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Some days, Riley hates being a woman.
She was about six when she first noticed that her primary school teacher treated the boys in her class differently, always asking them to collect the chairs after circle time, because they were already “ so big and strong.” She made sure to carry two chairs after that, just to show her.
She was twelve, walking alone to the grocery store to get some milk that her mother forgot earlier, when a car stopped next to her, two guys leaning out and openly leering at her. “Hey, darling. Need a ride?”, the first one asked, winking with a dirty grin on his face. She gave them the finger and turned around to run, wishing all the way back home that she´d had the courage to take out her keys and scratch a fine line in the shiny black SUV.
She was sixteen when a man came on to her on the bus home, putting a hand on her leg and inching it up while pretending to stare out of the window. She still dreams about it sometimes, the sticky helplessness following for hours after waking.
Online, it was easier. Hiding behind an alias made her feel invincible at first. Didn´t stop people a lot less savvy than her from calling her “bitch”, “whore” or worse, just because they figured there could be no worse insult than that. At least until the little virus she sent their way ate away at their hard drive.
Prison was hell, obviously.
And she could get bitter about all of that. (Had, in fact, many a sleepless night.) But on days like this, trudging through the Swedish backwoods after Mac and Jac with a back that cramped like the devil and a pounding headache, she´s almost convinced that this is the worst.
Getting her period in the middle of nowhere on a mission.
“Hey, Riles! You good over there?” Jack stops his climb halfway up the hill to look back at her. “Safehouse's just about a mile from here.”
“I'm coming!” She forces a smile and picks up her pace, every step sending a ripple of pain up her back and belly. Of course she has tampons in her go-bag, somewhere between first-aid bandages and water purification pills. What she doesn't have is the extra-strength painkillers, the heating pad and the chocolate ice cream she really fucking needs right about now.
Her chance of getting to any of that anytime soon are, however, slim to none. This was supposed to be an easy reconnaissance mission on behalf of the Swedish Secret Service who suspected a mole within their ranks. Turned out, they were spectacularly right, which is why Jack, Mac and her had to leave the birthday party at the diplomats house rather abruptly and flee into the neighboring mountains before the five dirty agents put holes into them.
A particularly bad cramp makes her bend over. Jack is at her side in an instant.
“You okay? Shit, did they get you, after all?”
“What? No!” She waves him of, her cheeks warming. “All good. Really.”
Mac, who is already several steps ahead, stops and turns around. “You sure? You look a little…”
“Peaky”, Jack finishes the sentence for him.
“I'm sorry, have you looked into the mirror lately? Your face looks like somebody mistook it for a punching bag and I'm pretty sure that's chocolate syrup on your eyebrow from that dessert table.”
Jack frowns, turns towards Mac. “Is there?”
“Yeah, right there… little to the left. Got it.” Riley sees him biting his lip to stop himself from laughing.
The altercation with the traitorous Swedish agents left Mac with wine spots on his expensive suit and a black eye that is only starting to form. As he slowly makes his way back towards them he moves stiffly, like he is only now starting the feel the after-effects of their fight.
He is not the only one.
Now that the adrenaline has worn off, her left leg feels like one big bruise where the biggest of the bunch had kicked her. Her cheek stings from the hit she received from his colleague before she could return the favor. The way her lower belly cramps makes her feel low-key nauseous and the silky evening gown she donned for the occasion is not enough to protect her from the biting wind that gets colder by the minute.
“Seriously, Riley. Are you okay? Do you need us to stop?” Mac is about as good at hiding his worry as Jack. Which means, not at all.
“I already told you, I'm fine.” It comes out a little harsher than intended. It isn't their fault, after all. But in all honestly, it isn't hers, either.
Jack gives her a long look that seems to go straight through all her defenses and something in his face softens. “All right. Then let's get all of us somewhere nice and warm, okay?”
“Yes, please”, she presses out through clenched teeth.
They trudge on.
Riley tries tuning it all out, the snow under her feet, the ice-cold wind, the pounding in her head and the cramps that turn her insides into shreds. To just focus on one step after the other.
Right foot. Left foot. Right foot, left foot.
When Jack finally stops right before her, she nearly crashes into him.
“Lady and Gentleman, welcome to our humble abode for the night.”
She steps around him to see a one-storied wooden hut nestled into the hillside. Mac is already busy cracking the lock and she has to suppress a sigh of relief when the door swings open.
“After you.”
She steps into a single room with a barren stone floor. The back wall is dominated by a minimalist kitchenette and a small fireplace. In front of it, there is a wooden table with four chairs. But the real star of the show is the bed on the left. Old wood, a ratty mattress and a pair of blankets with unidentifiable spots and yet, it is the best thing she's seen all day.
“Mac, can you get the fire going?”
“Already on it.”
She snaps back to herself. “I'll try to get back in touch with Matty, let her know that we missed exfil.”
“Considering we should have met them an hour ago, I think she already knows.”
“But still…”
“Why don't you start by sitting down and letting me check you over.”
Jack's tone leaves no room for argument. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Mac grinning.
Apparently, Jack does, too. “No need to look so smug, hoss, you're next.”
Mac's face falls. Riley chuckles.
“Sit.” Jack points to a chair and part of her wants to argue, just for arguments' sake. But her legs burn and her back is killing her, so she simply drops her purse and sinks onto the chair.
“Okay, Riles, what hurts?”
Everything, she thinks. “It's not so bad, really.”
“Sometimes I think you two are actually related.” Jack jerks his chin in Mac´s direction, who has just finished lighting a fire in the oven. “Let's try that again, shall we?”
She´s been through enough post-mission check-ups that she does not protest when he starts systematically checking her for injuries, hissing when he hikes her dress up and finds a deep-purple bruise in the form of a combat boot. “If I get my hands on these bastards…”
“Then they will be going to jail, as they should”, she mumbles, but something warm blooms in her chest, nonetheless.
“Good news, guys.” Mac pokes his head out of a small door that she hadn't previously noticed. “We actually have running water.”
“A Bathroom? With water?” She allows herself to hope against hope. “It wouldn't be hot, by any chance?”
“Sadly, no.”
She deflates.
“You´re good to go.” Jack pats her on the knee before rising with a groan.
“Your turn, old man.”
“Nah, I'm fine. Just a couple bruises, nothing time won't fix.”
“As if you would let me get away with that answer.” She stands up and a cramp makes her grit her teeth as something warm runs down the inside of her thigh.
“You good?” Jack's hand is on her elbow, steadying her.
“Just stood up to fast.” She presses her legs together, gestures towards the chair. “Let me at least take a look at that shiner, okay?”
“Tell you what: Mac takes care of that and you get started washing up. That dress looks as stunning as it looks uncomfortable.”
His idea sounds heavenly, cold water be damned. She searches his face for a hint of suspicion, of disgust, even, but there is nothing but warm concern in his eyes.
“Deal.”
As gracefully as possible, she makes her way over into the small bathroom and locks the door. There is nothing but a small toilet and a tiny sink, but the water looks actually clean, so she begins the arduous process of peeling her dress over her aching shoulders and cleaning the remainders of the day´s events off her body.
As she throws a bloody sheet of toilet paper in the bowl, she can't help but shake her head at the irony. “I didn't even get shot and I´m still bleeding all over the damn place." As if it´s not bad enough to be forced to traipse around in the wilderness followed by armed lunatics. "Oh, to be a man. Must be real nice."
At some point, there is a knock at the door and Mac's hand appears, containing a towel and a spare set of clothes.
“Found these in the drawer. They might be a little big, but…”
“As long as they are dry and clean, I could not care less.
It takes all of her remaining willpower not to shriek as she starts cleaning herself up with the cold water from the tap. It is not helping the cramps either. By the time she comes out dressed in a hoodie she drowns in and faded blue jeans three numbers to wide, she is shivering all over and her uterus has abandoned all pretenses of civility.
Mac and Jack have spent the meantime turning their safe house into something actually resembling a living room. The pillows on the bed are arranged at the top, the fire in the oven emits heavenly warmth and there is a pot of something hot bubbling away at the stove. Hunger and nausea fight for dominance in her belly and she turns away, shuffles over to Jack's backpack, where her laptop is waiting for her.
“I'll try to get a message through to Matty, tell her we'll stay the night.” She stops. “We will stay, right?” Her voice sounds desperate to her own ears, but currently she is too exhausted to hate herself for it.
“Definitely” Jack reassures her. “With that storm picking up, I doubt our shadows will be able to follow our trail tonight. We hunker down here and wait for the morning before we head out.”
“Amazing.” Some of her tiredness must have bled through her voice because Jack gives her a soft pat on the shoulder before passing her on his way to the bathroom. As he closes the door behind him, she plops down on the bed and curls up on her side, trying to breathe evenly through the pain while her laptop boots.
Something warm touches her arm and she jerks up.
“It's just me.” Mac holds out a rolled-up towel. “I heated it over the oven. It's not as good as a hot water bottle, but better than nothing.”
She feels her cheeks warm as she takes the towel and hugs it to herself. It feels like paradise. “Did I recently tell you you're a genius?”
“It's been at least 24 hours. My ego has already shriveled like a raisin.”
“Can't have that”, she mumbles. “Who'd get us out of all the shit we keep stumbling into?”
“Seemed to me like you were doing a good job yourself, earlier.”
She is not twelve anymore and helpless. Not sixteen and powerless. She meets his eyes and returns the smile. “I have good teachers.”
The bed dips as he takes a seat beside her and rises a second towel filled with snow to his face in an attempt to fight the swelling.
“Look at us”, she murmurs. “We make quite the pair.”
After sending the message to Matty she means to go over the data they collected before they got made, crosscheck it with the intel the Swedish government gave them, but her eyes keep drifting close without her accord. At some point, warm hands take the laptop from her fingers and place it on the nightstand. Jack's presence settles on her other side, his voice a low rumble as he says something about the water temperature in the bathroom. It includes a couple of colorful expletives and a comparison to “that hellhole in Yukon, you remember that?”
Mac laughs softly beside her.
Maybe, she thinks as she drifts towards sleep, being a woman can be bearable if you don´t have to do it alone.