Work Text:
Bossa stood stiffly while Trip shuffled around in the dark. He heard the other man The dull light from a phone illuminated the walls of the cramped janitorial closet. Bossa peered over Trip’s shoulder, half watching the door with his gun held across his chest and half entranced by the grainy drone footage on the other man’s phone. Seconds ticked by agonizingly slow, anticipation crackled in the air like charged static. The feeling was electric, nothing like Bossa had ever felt on a mission before. He had been on other operations with Rainbow and Nighthaven, mostly to kick around, collect intel, and take in a few goons for interrogation. But this felt bigger than anything he had been a part of. GATE didn’t specialize in taking down Big Bads, that was a unique experience offered only after Bossa had joined Nighthaven. Standing crammed into a musty closet on the opposite side of the building from his teammates, droning out the Deimos’ aptly named Lair was not something that Bossa had envisioned himself doing so early into his career.
“It’s so empty,” Bossa whispered. “Where is everyone?”
“Are you watching the door or my screen?” Trip shot back, his eyes still stuck to the screen.
Bossa straightened his posture, the sound of fabric shifting in the dead silence. He resisted fidgeting his hands or feet for fear of making noise, instead opting to chew the inside of his lip. The white noise hum of HVAC equipment helped to ease Bossa’s restless thoughts, his eyes now fixated on the fuzzy dark outline of the door in front of him. What exactly was he supposed to do if someone did open the door? He felt the weight of his gear pulling down on his shoulders, the cold sweat on his forehead beneath his balaclava, and the heaviness of his feet.
“You okay? You’re breathing hard.”
“Uh, yeah.” Bossa exhaled louder than he had intended.
Trip navigated his drone into a gap beneath a desk. He closed out his phone and put it into his pocket, the closet engulfed in darkness. He pressed down against his balaclava, both their earpieces crackling to life.
“Looks like nobody’s home. We’ll push forward to the first floor.”
“Go ahead. Stay alert. Something seems off.” Mira responded.
“10-4.”
Bossa stood stiffly while Trip shuffled around in the dark. He heard the other man stand up with a huff and clunking around as he adjusted his gear.
“You ready?” Trip asked.
Bossa was silent, struggling to find words. He flinched when he felt Trip’s hand rest against his shoulder.
“Hey, you’ve got this. It’s nothing that we haven’t trained for before.” Bossa could hear the sincerity in Trip’s voice.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
“Do you really think I’d let anything happen to you?”
“Psh, I hope not.” Bossa laughed quietly. “I might not forgive you. Then I’ll come back and haunt you.”
“Oh God don’t say things like that.”
“Why? Are you scared of me crashing your pans together in the afterlife?” Bossa lightly punched Trip in the arm.”You said it first, we’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m just nervous.”
“Sitting in here waiting probably isn’t helping. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”
“Oorah sir yes sir.” Bossa responded, deepening his voice for comedic effect.
Trip exhaled through his nose, snickering at Bossa’s smartassery. He opened the door slowly, thin fingers of light eventually engulfing the closet in warmth. The pair squinted into the sudden brightness. Trip peeked his head around the doorway warily and stepped into the hallway, taking several more steps forward before motioning back at Bossa. Bossa followed close behind, the butt of his gun held firmly to his shoulder as he swept each empty space with his gaze. The sound of two sets of careful footsteps reverberated softly off the granite floors as they walked, amplified by the high ceilings and eerie quiet.
“This is weirding me out. Are you sure you didn’t see anyone while droning this place?”
“Nope. Doesn’t surprise me though.” Trip stopped as the two approached a set of blue stairs.”If I were facing arrest for international crime, I would also want to jump ship the minute I knew shit was ready to go down.”
Bossa nodded, thinking about Fenrir and Shrike. It was an undeniably ballsy move to escape from the hands of someone like Deimos. Trip walked halfway up the first set of stairs, leaning against the wall and keeping an eye and weapon fixed on the second set above him. Bossa followed, glancing behind as the two slowly approached the second floor.
“We’re right down the hall from the office.” Trip said, maintaining a defensive stance as he led Bossa down another dimly lit hallway.
“Then what?”
“At this point? We look for intel.”
“Hmm…” Bossa continued down the hallway, the sunlight filtering through the overhead plants and casting patterned shadows on the balcony floor beneath them. “And what if people show up?”
“They would have to be pretty damn good at hiding if none of our other teammates have noticed them by now.” Trip stopped just before a doorway and motioned for Bossa to back away.
He pulled his phone out once more, crouching to the side of the doorway as he scoped the room out once more with his drone. Once the room was adequately swept, Trip put his device away and stood back on two feet. He approached the door and gave the handle a cautious wiggle. Bossa raised his weapon, feeling his shoulders tense. He took a deep breath to clear his thoughts, trying to breathe away images of masked enemies pushing through the door. To both of their surprise, the door creaked open with a slow and unceremonious squeak. They stared at the entrance for a moment. Trip turned to give Bossa an apathetic shrug. He motioned his head towards the entrance and walked through the doorway.
Bossa stood for a moment, silently amping himself up in an effort to ignore the growing pit of anxiety in his stomach. He moved forward and entered the room, greeted by the cool blast of air conditioning. Trip shut the door behind Bossa, crouching down, unzipping his gear, and placing an Osezno tripwire on the doorway wall. Bossa glanced at the other doorway, noting that Trip had already secured it. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the filing cabinets and various office storage. A solid wood desk sat in the middle of the room, illuminated by an ominous light above it. A chill ran down Bossa’s spine. This was the same room where Deimos would have planned every one of his depraved plans, from the assassination of Harry Pandey to the explosion that temporarily wiped several high-standing Rainbow operators off the playing field; a workspace belonging to a man so vile that even his escaped teammates still feared how he would eventually punish them.
“Marcelo?”
“Huh?”
“You good?”
Bossa turned around to face his teammate's voice. Trip rummaged through an open filing cabinet, picking through each of the manilla folders within the open drawer.
“Yeah, why?”
“You looked like you were going to pass out. I only said your name three times before you responded.” Trip lingered on one folder, pulling it from the drawer and slapping it onto the desk.
“My bad,” Bossa responded. “I take it we’re looking around for anything useful, right?”
“You’ve got it. Anything marked Rainbow, Nighthaven, cryptic messaging…if it looks like it’ll be useful to us, it probably is.”
“Gotcha.” Bossa slung his gun over his shoulder, making his way to a set of office drawers.
He opened the top drawer, leafing through the well-organized folders of information. He curiously read through some of it. Newspaper cuttings, grainy images of operators, military documents in a myriad of different languages, Bossa gawked at the seemingly endless stockpile of information that Deimos had accumulated over who knows how many years.
“Man, this guy’s been a real thorn in your side hasn’t he?” Bossa asked out loud, setting aside a handful of papers. “I knew he was a big deal, but dude is obsessed with you guys.”
“Yeah. For as much as he stalks us, he’s been strangely illusive about it.” Trip shuffled through the paperwork. “It’s not often that Rainbow has the rug pulled from under them, but between Harry and the explosives incident in that airplane hangar…tsk.”
Trip paused for a moment before pulling out yet another folder. Bossa didn’t press him to continue. He tried not to think about how disturbing the situation must have been for his friend. Between the shock of losing a beloved director, watching helplessly as his teammates were injured, and the fear he must have felt for his own life, Bossa couldn't imagine the trauma of what Trip had gone through leading up to this point. Bossa opened the second drawer. He stared for a moment, shocked by the contents within it.
“No fucking way.”
Trip jolted his attention towards Bossa at the sudden outburst. The other man held two records, one in each hand. Despite his balaclava, Trip could sense the mischievous grin beneath it to match his teammate's smiling eyes.
“What did you find?”
“Donna Summer, Earth, Wind & Fire, The Trammps…” Bossa stared dumbfounded for a moment before cackling. “Bro there’s no way. This dude loves disco.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m being so serious right now. This is the same corny shit Néon plays when we clean the apartment together.”
Trip walked across the room to join Bossa at the drawer. Bossa shuffled through the stash of vinyl, stopping dead in his tracks as they uncovered an ABBA Gold: Greatest Hits record. The two locked eyes, staring for several long seconds before erupting in laughter at the absurdity of it all.
“This cannot be real.” Trip wheezed, wiping tears from his eyes.”This is a sick joke.”
“ABBA!? Like, Dancing Queen ABBA?” Bossa snorted, leaning an elbow onto the sturdy dresser for support. “Dude…this was probably his hype music while he planned your doom.”
Trip smacked a hand down onto the dresser, his shoulders shaking as he restrained himself from guffawing. Bossa sniffled, catching his breath between bouts of laughter.
“There has to be a record player in here somewhere,” Bossa said, snagging a vinyl and opening various drawers and cabinets. “Do you think we can bring some of these back with us? Néon is gonna lose their mind.”
“I don’t see why not. Deimos owes it to us anyways.”
“Shit, man. All of you need a raise at this point.” Bossa giggled mischievously “I knew it!”
Bossa turned to Trip, pointing excitedly at a record player on the shelf behind him. He turned back around, pulling the vinyl from its sleeve and placing it gently on the center spindle. He pressed several buttons and carefully dropped the stylus onto the record. After a few seconds of static and popping, the set of speakers behind the record player rumbled to life.
“Turn that down a little.”
“Alright old man.” Bossa teased, fiddling with the knobs and bringing down the volume. “You said nobody’s here so I figured you wouldn’t care.”
“That doesn’t mean you can blow out the eardrums of every person within a mile radius.”
“It’s not even that loud!” Bossa waved his hands around for dramatic effect, sighing loudly as Trip cast him a narrow-eyed stare. “Fine, I’ll turn it down more.”
Bossa turned the volume down a notch more. Trip returned to digging through files, occasionally adding a stack of information to his growing pile. Bossa meandered around the room, opening random drawers and stopping to pick up various knick-knacks.
“This guy’s a weirdo.”
“I mean, yeah.” Trip responded to Bossa’s thought “But what makes you say that?”
“I dunno. The disco music, the record player, all these random keychains and desk supplies I keep finding…” Bossa lingered on the thought “It almost humanizes him, actually.”
Trip looked up from the drawer.
“No. He’s an evil bastard. He’s tried to kill half of my team and assassinated our director in his own home.” Trip said firmly “I get why you’d think that, but he’s not.”
Bossa met Trip’s eyes, taken aback by the dryness in his teammate's voice.
“I didn’t mean to be offensive. I just think that it’s kind of funny he and Néon listen to the same music and he’s got all these weird little desk decorations.” Bossa looked at the souvenir keychain in his hand and chuckled to himself. “He’s a terrible person no doubt, but I can almost imagine getting along with him in another life.”
“Marcelo listen to me, you can’t be friends with everyone. Some people are actually evil.”
“Well duh. I’m not stupid.”
“I don’t want you to use this experience to try and humanize someone who has killed his own employees.” There was empathy in Trip’s voice “Fenrir…hell, even Shrike…some of the stories those two have shared about working for Deimos are enough to convince you otherwise. You don’t want to rub shoulders with people like this.”
“Okay bro, I get it,” Bossa responded defensively “I was just making an observation.”
“I just don’t want-” Trip hesitated “I trust your judgment. I’m just looking out for you is all.”
Bossa mumbled something in Portuguese. He turned back to the drawers and started to rummage through them once again, humming along to the music. Trip frowned at the twinge of guilt in his chest. He knew better than to unload a life lesson onto his teammate. Bossa had confided in him his feelings of inadequacy regarding his younger age and lack of career life experience before. He tapped his fingers softly against the metal cabinet, trying to think of something to say that would remedy the situation.
“Do you smell that?”
Trip froze. Even through his mask, he could distinctly smell the acrid fumes of something burning. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, his heart dropping at the grating sound of some sort of hard breach going off behind them. Bossa stared at Trip anxiously, the gravity of the situation setting in. Trip's eyes darted around the room.
“The desk. Get behind the desk.”
Bossa’s feet stuck to the ground, his mind racing.
“Marcelo move!”
The sound of Trip’s raised voice snapped him out of his daze. He nodded and dove behind the heavy wood desk. He could hear Trip knocking around behind him. There was the heavy thud of a bookcase falling as Trip hopped over the desk and joined Bossa’s side.
“Mira, what the hell’s going on?!” Trip yelled into the earpiece.
“What are you talking about?!”
“We’re being-”
Trip was cut off by a thunderous explosion. Debris scattered across the room and over the top of the desk, the orange glow of flames momentarily illuminating the room. The sound of footsteps and yelling followed.
“It’s an ambush!” Trip called out, his ears still ringing.
The sunlight pouring into the now open wall cast shadows onto the wall in front of Trip and Bossa. Through the muddled blend of moving shapes, Trip counted out at least six human-shaped silhouettes. Trip unstuck a smoke grenade from his belt, motioning his hands at Bossa as he silently communicated his plan.
Heavy footsteps closed in as he ripped the pin and lugged the weighty canister over the desk behind him. It rattled around on the floor, allowing just enough time for several surprised exclamations before it exploded. Smoke billowed into the air, filling the space with a choking fog. The sound of loud cursing was ensued by gunfire. Without hesitation, Trip peeked around the corner of the desk with his weapon at the ready. Crouched on one knee, he fired back into the dark plume of smoke. Bossa followed suit, swiveling around and firing at the dark shadows in the cloud.
Groans of pain cut through the sound of bullets tearing through the wall. The thump of a body or two hitting the ground indicated that the pair had been somewhat accurate with their aim.
“We need backup!” Trip fumbled with a magazine, jamming it into his gun between attempts to communicate through his earpiece. “Second floor, office room!”
Bossa’s heart raced as he replayed training situations over in his head. This was definitely unlike anything he had ever done before. These weren’t a couple of goons holding down a fort in the middle of nowhere, but rather a team of well-trained mercenaries with abilities sophisticated enough to evade Rainbow’s surveillance. He pulled back behind the desk, using the moment under cover to catch his breath and reload. He looked over at Trip, hoping to find a glimpse of reassurance in the other man’s body language.
It was obvious that Trip was caught off guard and was still finding his bearings. The glow of gunpowder igniting and hot shells ejecting onto the floor illuminated his teammate's uncovered eyes. His rigid stance and piercing gaze were indicative of the adrenaline rushing through his veins. This Trip was nothing like the laid-back friend and mentor he had trained with many times before.
Mira said something over the radio, but Bossa couldn’t concentrate enough to make out what she had said. He slammed a fresh magazine into place and peered around the corner once again. The smoke had begun to dissipate, revealing a clearer image of their assailants. Three large men stood near the breached entryway, each wearing a full face mask and a black plate carrier vest. The rigs secured around their waist implied that they had somehow rappelled in. One of the men stood forward from the others, holding a shield in front of himself.
Bullets rattled off of the shield as Trip opened fire. The man flinched, whipping the shield to the side. Taking advantage of the now exposed gap in their defense, Trip fired at one of the men standing behind their armored leader. Guttural, choked gasps escaped the man as he collapsed to the floor with a thud. They continued, drowned out by another round of gunfire.
Trip whipped around, his back against the desk while he loaded in yet another magazine. Bossa scooted out from behind the desk, searching for a better line of sight to take out the second man. A large piece of broken bookshelf lay on the ground several yards away. He squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath before tumbling across the floor and taking cover. The men shouted, waving their arms at one another. Bossa shot a look over at Trip who frantically shook his head back. Bossa motioned back with his hands. Trip quickly turned his attention back towards the men, opening fire on the shield.
The shield pushed back against the impact of the bullets, preoccupied with Trip’s distraction. The man behind him cursed as he fumbled with a magazine. Bossa crouched, staring down the sight of his gun. A tipped metal cabinet just barely blocked the viewline. There was no way he would be able to take the shot from this position. Bossa impulsively jumped to his feet, raised his gun, and aimed vaguely at the man’s position. The man turned. Bossa could feel his eyes burning into him from behind the mask. His hands shook, an itching nervous giddiness gluing his trigger finger in place.
“Shoot! Agora seu idiota!”
He pulled the trigger, bracing against the kickback of his gun. The man yelled out, jerking to the side as metal met flesh. He fell to his knees. Bossa directed his aim at the shielded man who had now begun walking towards Trip. He steadied the barrel, his finger hovering over the trigger. The sound of a pistol firing several times shattered Bossa’s attention.
He felt his body tense at the sickening sound of bullets lodging into muscle. Bossa turned back towards the man he had downed. He sat on his knees, a pistol sliding from one limp hand while the other barely pressed against a bleeding wound. The man keeled over, finally succumbing to his injuries.
Bossa shook his head at the distraction, turning once again to help his teammate. He fired once, bracing the recoil. A sudden searing pain radiated from his abdomen. Bossa grimaced, groaning as he instinctively brought a hand to his side. He patted around, his blood going cold when he felt a wet patch of fabric just below his plate carrier. He hesitated for a moment before pulling his shaking hand away, revealing it to be stained bright red.
He immediately felt nauseous and lightheaded, and the world around him began to blur. There was no way this was happening. There was more radio chatter. He tried to make out what it was saying but it was no use. The sounds of struggle echoed to the left of him. He turned just in time to see Trip bash the final man with the butt of his rifle, firing a single shot to finish the job.
“I think that’s it for now, we’d better move our asses and get with the others before more show up.” Trip said triumphantly between breaths.
Bossa stared back, his eyes wide. Trip cocked his head.
“Are you okay?”
Bossa didn’t know how to respond. He sputtered out some nonsense, his knees buckling from under him while another wave of intense pain tore through his body.
“Fuck,” Trip cursed, rushing to Bossa’s side.
He kneeled down, placing a hand on his teammate’s back. Bossa shuddered, one hand pressed against his abdomen and one on the ground beneath him as he hunched over.
“What’s happened?”
“Eugh…” Bossa coughed out another groan “I…don’t...”
Trip secured an arm around Bossa, helping the other man onto his back. Bossa sucked air through gritted teeth as he was repositioned. Trip placed a hand over Bossa’s, gently pulling it away from the wound. He refrained from reacting, holding back an array of expletives he silently wished he could scream out.
“It’s okay right?” Bossa tried to sit himself up, resting his weight on one elbow only for a moment. “Nothing…you haven’t seen before.”
“I need an emergency medevac extraction for a bullet wound. Please get them here as fast as possible.” Trip immediately spoke into the earpiece, a sobering seriousness to his voice. “I need all medical ready for an intake and Nighthaven on standby.”
“Come on man it-”
“Marcelo, this is going to be uncomfortable...” Bossa heard Trip rummaging through his various equipment “Actually I don’t want to lie to you, it’s going to hurt.”
“Pff…” Bossa waved a hand around limply.
Trip inspected the wound, trying his best to work with the basic kit of supplies he had on his person. He carefully pulled away pieces of torn fabric. It was indeed a bullet hole and a nasty one at that. He tore a sheet of hemostatic gauze from its sterile packaging, setting it atop the bleeding wound.
“I don’t know…I uh…” Trip stuttered, his voice wavering “Please just hold on for me. I’m gonna count down from three and apply some pressure, okay?”
“Okay?” Bossa responded, his voice shaky and uncertain.
“Alright.” Trip cleared his throat. “Okay…three…two…one…”
Trip slowly put pressure on the injury, eventually using a good portion of his body weight to press down. Bossa tried to resist crying out, but it was to no avail. His vision went white with pain and he balled up his fists, frantically breathing and crying out in distress.
“It hurts so bad…”
“I know I’m so sorry-”
“Nick this hurts so fucking bad,” Bossa reached out in an agonized haze, grabbing hold of a piece of Trip’s sleeve and squeezing it into his fist “Please…I can’t…”
“You need to br-”
“Am I going to be okay? Am I going to die-”
“Marcelo cut it out.” The intensity in Trip’s voice took both of them off guard.
Trip was quiet, the sounds of Bossa’s erratic breathing and anguish filling the silence. He made a single distressed noise, cursing to himself again as he brought one bloodied hand away from the gauze and to his face.
“I need you to keep talking to me.” Trip’s voice sounded stuffier than usual “Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah.” Bossa responded through ragged breaths.
“I need you to breathe too.” Trip placed his other hand back down “In through your nose and out through your mouth if you can.”
“Okay.”
“I promise when we get out of here I’ll…I’ll…” Trip laughed hoarsely “I’ll make it up to you kiddo. I promise. Whatever you want.”
“I feel so cold...”
“Hey, that’s okay.” Trip felt his stomach drop and he grabbed his friend’s hand, using two fingers to feel for a pulse on his wrist “The medevac has these cool space blankets that look like tinfoil. They don’t look like much but they get surprisingly warm.”
His pulse was fast and weaker than Trip was comfortable with it being. He took a breath to ease his mind, reminding himself of the blood loss Bossa had already suffered from. The helicopter would be here at any moment. There would be extra hands to assist him. There would be more sophisticated medical supplies on board. His friend would be fine, he tried to reassure himself.
Bossa was crying, not as frantically as earlier but enough for Trip to notice. Thousands of arrows of guilt pierced his heart. He should have known better than to goof off on a mission. Doc and Kali had trusted him with this mentorship and he had gone and fucked it up over something as stupid as digging through Deimos’ record collection. Now Bossa’s life was on the line because he couldn’t be a better leader.
“Can you tell me a story?” There would be time later for Trip to beat himself up “About anything. Just keep talking to me.”
“Anything?”
“Yeah. Anything. I don’t care I want to hear it all.”
“Well…” Bossa sniffled, fighting back shivers “You can’t tell anyone…about this…you promise?”
“I promise buddy. Anything for you.”
“My brother, Eduardo, the older one…we must have been…ah…I don’t know…” Bossa grimaced, taking in a shaky breath and steadying himself “I was ten. At that age, he didn’t want anything to…do with me…”
“Alright.”
“I was a mean little…shit…always getting into fights. The other kids hated me.” Bossa could see black forming at the edges of his vision “I think I’m gonna pass out.”
“What happened next?”
“Ugh…uh…he had these friends. They were all older than…him…teenagers. They would pick on me the worst.” Bossa groaned, putting a hand to his covered face. “One day…they got a hold of my diary. I freaked out…had a complete meltdown and tried to fight them. They…ah…kicked the shit out of me. Three teenagers against a ten year old…I think you can guess why they did that.”
“Oh,” Trip frowned at the depressing story. “I’m sorry.”
“Eduardo…he…god…” Bossa chuckled, wincing at the sting “He sucked so bad at fighting. Pussied out of any…urg…anyway. He got his ass beat defending me. They gave him a…nasty wedgie and everything.”
“Pfft…” Trip giggled “I forgot those were a real thing.”
“We were both beat up pretty bad. I had…nasty scrapes on my knees. He sat there with a bloody nose cleaning my scraped knees while I screamed and cried bloody murder.” Bossa exhaled through his nose, smiling as he recalled the memory. “He knew why I was upset about them…for reading my diary. I think he was the…first person I told. But can I be honest?”
“Huh?”
“I was more upset that they had seen the pictures I drew of myself kissing…ah…what’s his face from Titanic.”
“Leonardo DiCaprio?”
“Yeah, that guy.”
Trip laughed genuinely, trying his best to keep his arms still. Bossa gigged too.
“Anyways…I wanted to tell you that-”
“Trip? Come in, Trip?”
The sound of the radio had cut Bossa off. Trip pulled a hand away to push down on his earpiece.
“This is Trip?”
“Medevac just landed. We’ve got extra hands on the way up now.”
“I’ll be expecting them. 10-4.”
Trip pulled his other hand away, the hemostatic gauze now stuck to the wound. Bossa gasped in a breath of air, relieved of the pressure on his stomach.
“We’re almost out of here.” Trip couldn’t tell who he was trying to console at this point “Can you keep talking for me while we get you into the helicopter?”
“I think so.”
“Great.” Trip smiled under his balaclava “You’re a real badass, Marcelo. You’ve got this.”
The sudden sound of footsteps entering the room filled the air. Bossa didn’t look to the side, opting instead to stare straight up at the ceiling. He saw muddled familiar faces hovering over him and felt hands easing him onto what must have been some kind of stretcher. A voice that wasn’t Trip’s was comforting him, another was telling him he’d be okay. The world was starting to blur into TV static.
“Talk to me, Marcelo.” He could hear Trip’s voice.
They must have been outside now. Everything was bright and confusing.
“Colors. Give me colors. Come on.”
“Green…orange…rosa…marrom…”
Bossa couldn’t feel his hands or feet anymore.
“R…red…amare..lo…”
The shadows from the trees above cast funny patterns onto the ground below. Bossa thought about the ocean as they shimmered above.
“Marcelo!”
“Gr…een…bl…u…”
His eyes rolled back and everything went dark.
***
My love must be a kind of blind love
Bossa furrowed his brow, his eyes shut. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled.
I can’t see anyone but you
There was a bed beneath him. The sound of…medical equipment?
Sha bop, sha bop
And music? Coming from a radio?
Sha bop, sha bop
There was a weight next to him and warmth on his hand.
Sha bop, sha bop
Someone else was breathing beside him.
Sha bop, sha bop
He groaned, moving his legs around slowly.
Are the stars out tonight?
The medical equipment, the cold air, and scratchy sheets. He was in a hospital room.
I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright
Bossa groaned and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around slowly. The lights were dimmed and the blinds on the windows were drawn shut. He looked down at his left arm. There was an IV in it. He looked to his right. It was Sens. They sat in a chair pulled up to the bed, their head resting beside Bossa’s arm. Their hand sat atop his own, their thumb gently rubbing circles over the top of it.
“Néon?” his voice was hoarse and weak.
Sens sat up, a smile on their face when they turned to face him.
“Hey, big guy.” They said softly “Long day, huh?”
Bossa groaned in response. Sens brought a hand to his face, tucking back loose strands of hair before letting it rest against his cheek. Bossa closed his eyes, sighing in relief while he leaned into their touch.
“Do you need me to turn the music down?”
Bossa shook his head no. He put a hand on his partner’s, turning his head to kiss their palm.
“Am I dead?”
“Nah, you pulled through.”
“Are you sure? Because I think I’m talking to an angel.”
“Oh stop.” Sens laughed “You’d better not be dead. I think Nicholas would have sued Kali for all she’s worth if anything happened to you on that operating table.”
“Mmm…” Bossa racked his brain, recalling only bits and pieces of what had happened “So what exactly…”
“You’re lucky to be in the state you’re in is what happened.” Sens interrupted. “Just a few centimeters in any other direction and…god…you scared us all.”
Bossa opened his eyes again, taken aback by the tears on his partner's face. He coaxed them closer, kissing the top of their head as they rested it on his chest.
“I’m sorry…” Bossa knew he didn’t have to justify himself. Sens understood the perils of their career just as well.
“I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“Me too.” Bossa thought for a moment “I’m glad Nick was there. I know I can trust anyone else for the same treatment but…I don’t know…I don’t think I would have fared as well without his encouragement.”
“I need you to tell him that. He’s been beating himself up ever since they loaded you onto that helicopter.” Sens sat up straight, intertwining their fingers with Bossa’s “He argued with Ace the whole flight here and threatened Nighthaven’s medical staff because they wouldn’t let him help. Doc had to step in and tell him to chill. I’ve never seen him this torn up.”
“Shit…” Bossa couldn’t fathom Trip in such a state “Is he here now?”
“He hasn’t left. He’s been in a private waiting room with Apha and Nikolai the whole time.” Sens squeezed Bossa’s hand “I know you want to see him. He wants to see you too. He’s just…scared I think.”
“Scared?” Bossa laughed “Why would he be scared? The worst of it’s over.”
“I think he’s afraid you’ll be angry with him.”
“He’s full of shit.”
“Give him a break, you know how he gets.” Sens stretched as they stood, leaning down one last time to kiss Bossa “I’ll go get him for you. Just hang tight.”
Bossa smiled as Sens walked away. The door shut behind them, leaving the room silent except for medical equipment. Alone with his thoughts, Bossa tried to replay the events leading up to this point. He remembered the closet and the office room, the records, keychains, record player, The Trammps…ah! An explosion? No… gunfire and…
He rested his hand over the hospital blanket, feeling around until he settled it upon a lump of bandaging. That’s right, he’d been shot. That’s what had happened.
“Why would Nick blame himself for something stupid like this?”
There was a knock at the door. Bossa looked over. Sens held it open and ushered Trip inside. They shut the door, leaving the room silent…except for Trip.
“Hey.” Trip said more awkwardly than usual.
“Hi Nick.” Bossa smiled.
Trip lingered in the doorway for a moment before timidly walking across the room. He sat down where Sens had been seated, clearing his throat and handing Bossa a card. Bossa took the envelope, raising an eyebrow as he tore it open. He looked down, squinting through a mental haze to read what was written.
Marcelo,
You’re one hell of a teammate and an even better friend. What you demonstrated out there was an exemplification of bravery and resilience. Take this time to rest and let me know if you ever need anything.
Also, think about where you’d want to go for dinner once you’re out of here. It’s on me. It’s the least I can do.
Take care of yourself.
Love,
- Nicholas
Bossa looked up from the card and into Trip’s eyes. The other man’s face was red and puffy, he had obviously been crying. Bossa snickered, laying the card down on the bed beside him.
“Dude…this might be the gayest thing you’ve ever done for me.”
“Do you mean the card or tending to your wounds?”
“Both.” Bossa giggled “At least you didn’t have to give me CPR.”
Trip couldn’t help but smile and the two shared a well-needed laugh. Bossa got a good look of his friend's face and noticed the black eye developing.
“How are you?”
“Me? I’m okay. Just a little shaken up I think.”
“Néon said you were scared of coming in here.”
Trip thought silently, wringing his hands while he searched for the right words to say.
“I’m sorry for misleading you…”
“Bro, how could you have predicted that was going to happen?” Bossa asked earnestly “I’m here now and breathing thanks to you.”
Trip’s lip quivered. Bossa groaned and rolled his eyes.
“Don’t you dare blame yourself over this. And to think I’d be angry at you? You’re lucky I’m stuck in this bed or I’d have to kick your ass.” Bossa extended his arms “Now come here and give me a hug so I can say thank you.”
Trip leaned over and gingerly wrapped his arms around Bossa. He tried to pull away, but Bossa squeezed him in tighter.
“You have no idea how grateful I am for you.” Bossa whispered before letting go “I swear. If I had died to Disco Inferno…I told you I’d come back and haunt you…and make you recite numbers again or whatever.”
Trip laughed, wiping tears from his eyes.
“That reminds me…the story you were telling me. You didn’t get to finish it.”
“The story?”
“Yeah. The one with Leonardo DiCaprio.”
“Oh my god.” Bossa laughed and slapped a hand to his face “I can’t believe I told you all that. You’re a dead man if I ever find out that you told someone.”
“You’re secret’s safe with me.” Trip put his hands up.
“I remember now what I was gonna tell you…”
“Please tell me before shit hits the fan again.”
“Eduardo…you remind me a lot of him. He’s a big baby who tries to act tougher than he really is.”
“Dude really?” Trip interjected, unamused.
“Let me finish…he does so much for everyone else and he’s always looked out for me. Big brother stuff, you know? I don’t get to see him as much anymore because he has his own family and…well…things on my end will always be kind of weird. But you?” Bossa smiled “You know, a kid out there missed out on having a big brother like you. I’m lucky enough to have a Nicholas in my life.”
Trip stared at Bossa. Tears welled in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. His shoulders shook as he tried to restrain himself, but it was no use. Bossa held out a hand, which Trip took into his own and gave a squeeze. They shared a long moment of silence while Trip processed his emotions.
“Well thank god I didn't get to finish while we were out in the field.” Bossa broke the silence as Trip’s tears began to subside “You would have dropped me on my head down those stairs or something.”
“I would never do that to you!” Trip laughed through his sniffles.
“Bro look at yourself and tell me why you got upset that I called you a crybaby.”
“Oh cut it out it’s been a long day.”
“Yeah yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night.”
There was another moment of silence.
“I should go get Apha and Nikolai. They’ve been worried about you too.” Trip said, rising to his feet. “Just…please don’t hesitate to reach out if you need me, okay?”
“Same to you. I expect you here every day, actually.” Bossa said through a smirk.
Trip rolled his eyes. Bossa reached out for one more hug and Trip obliged.
“I love you, Nick. I really mean that.” Bossa squeezed his friend tighter “I don’t know how to thank you enough for everything you do.”
Trip smiled, holding back tears again.
“Just keep on being you.”