Chapter Text
Hell had fallen around them, but somehow, Ashley was fine. Just a few scrapes. They’d escaped death just in time, but there was no telling how robust the building was, or if there were any other futuristic surprises headed their way. Leaving was the obvious conclusion. They didn’t even have the time to catch their breath: They had to get out. Now.
“Maggie,” he said, throwing a look behind him to make sure she heard.
He turned back to Ashley, making sure she was still standing. Then the image of Maggie’s still frame on the floor registered in his brain, making him snap back. Something's wrong.
“Maggie!
No reaction. For the tiniest of moments, he's frozen, the horrible possibilities crescendoing in his head. She's knocked out. She's paralyzed. She's dead. Then the soldier in him took control: He needed to get to her, not dwell on horror stories.
Ashley forgotten, he crawled toward his partner. “Hey, hey, hey, hey.” With every repetition, he hoped she’d say something. Or move. Or even just grunt. Just some sign that she was alright.
“Maggie.” He crouched down next to her and grabbed her arm, shaking her. “Talk to me." C'mon. “Maggie!”
“Is she- is she okay?” Ashley asked.
Yes, he wanted to say. This was Maggie Bell, after all. She was always okay. It was the reason he hadn’t thought to check on her sooner. She had survived biological weapons, being shot, and countless explosions. She'd be just fine this time, too. She had to be.
He ripped his glove off, breaths shaking as he placed his fingers against her neck. Praying. Nothing.
“There’s no pulse.” He’s surprised at how easily the words left his lips, the methodical soldier speaking for him.
Gentle not to hurt her, he turned her around. Then he placed his ear above her lips, listening for breaths that weren’t there.
“She’s not breathing.” He wasn’t sure who he was speaking to. “C’mon.”
He placed his palms on her chest, interlocking his fingers as he put all his weight on her, again and again, trying to pump life into her.
“Maggie,” he begged.
No response. He continued pumping, the kevlar beneath his fingers taunting him. It was supposed to keep her safe. He was supposed to keep her safe. Yet, he’d let her fall behind. He hadn't made sure she was safe, as a good partner should do. And now, all he could do for her was be her heart. Too little, too late.
At the count of thirty, he leaned down to breathe into her. Life was filled with cruel ironies. A week ago, he’d told her that she was the person who he couldn’t imagine his life without. Now, he could feel her dead beneath his lips. He bit down the bile prompted by her metallic taste, and reverted to her chest, keeping tally in his head. 30 pumps, two breaths.
“Please,” he begged. “Please wake up.”
He continued the cycle. 30, 2. 30, 2.
“Maggie, OA?” Scola shouted.
Finally, back-up.
“Down here!”
“Oh, God," Scola sounded nearly as horrified as he felt. "What happened?”
“The blast took us out. Her heart stopped.”
Her heart stopped. She was dead. Not yet, he reminded himself. He couldn't afford to be hung up on that. Not if he was going to get her back.
“Get Ashley out of here!” His voice almost betrayed him. “Go, go, go, go, go.”
He was vaguely aware of the girls disappearing, and of Scola updating the team in the background. Agent down. It’s Maggie. Knowing Isobel, she was moving heaven and earth to get help to them. It just might not be enough.
C’mon. OA thought. Just wake up. If there was one person who could perform a miracle, it was Maggie.
He leaned down to check for breaths. Nothing. Damn it.
“Twenty-one-” he counted.
“Five out, buddy. Keep going.” Scola said. It wasn’t often he sounded so small.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three,” he muttered. C’mon. Just five more minutes. “Come on.” He begged. “Come on.” A whisper, this time. “Come on, Maggie.”
Brain activity had been recorded in the minutes after death. Though he didn't know how steady the science behind that claim was, he was willing to suspend all disbelief for just the small chance that she could hear him begging her. Maybe it would be enough to pull her back. Because he wouldn’t, he couldn’t, lose her.
“Come on. Come on, Maggie.”
When she gasped, he was sure he’d never heard anything more beautiful.
He repeated heys between her coughs for air, placing a hand on her arm. Partly to make her feel safe, partly to assure himself that she was there.
“There she is." He alternated between holding her and giving her space to breathe. “There she is."
She's moving her arms, he registered. That was a good sign.
“You’re okay. You’re okay.” He assured her. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” The words were as much for his comfort as for hers.
She looked up at him. “OA?”
There she is, he thought. It hadn't been until then that he realized the terrifying possibility of getting her heart beating without getting her back. He didn’t know how hard she’d hit her head.
“Yeah, I got you,” he promised. “Breathe. Breathe. Just breathe.” There was nothing more important right now.
“Wow, woah.” Her eyes darted across the room. “What happened?” He’d never heard her voice like that before, deep and raw and confused.
“We’re fine,” he reassured her. Right now, that was all that mattered. “I’m with you.”
She didn’t need to know everything just yet. There was still the possibility of her shutting down from the shock of it all.
“You’re okay.” He promised. “I need you to breathe.” Give her something to focus on. “Just relax. Okay?” She didn’t need to worry. “I got you. I'm with you. Just breathe.” He couldn’t help but admire her as he watched her. “Just breathe.”
Scola patted his back. Later, he’d have to thank him for being there. Right now, however, his focus was only on his partner.
“We gotta get you out of here,” he told her.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She tried to push herself off the ground, but her arms betrayed her, and she crumpled back to the floor. “Just a minute,” she mumbled.
He shook his head. “No, we need to go now, Maggie.” The building could still collapse.
Her response was a defeated sight.
He threaded his arm under her back, carefully pulling her up into a sitting position. Small steps. They were in a rush, but he didn’t want her to get hurt.
“Oh,” she mumbled, touching her forehead. “Ow.”
“Yeah.” He remarked. “You got a nasty cut.” And definitely a concussion. “The medics will check it out.”
The lack of protest at the word medics was a definite sign that she was shaken up.
He reached out his hand, and she accepted it as he helped her to her feet. It took her a few tries, wobbly feet betraying her, but she managed to stand up. A good sign, he thought.
“Let’s go,” he said, securing his arm around her waist. I’m not letting you fall.
She didn’t respond, leaning against him as she focused intensely on making her way up the stairs.
With each step, he grew a little prouder.
Once they were out of her, and he was sure she hadn't broken any bones, he was sure he'd hug her. He wasn't sure if he'd ever let go.
“Good job, Mags," he told her as they reached the top.
She scoffed. “Sure.”
She didn’t sound impressed, but she should be: She’d just performed a miracle and walked away from death.