Ao2: Posterity
"Smile, fuckface!"
The triumphant jeer somehow managed to surface in exactly the millisecond it took before the reactionary burst of semautomatic fire. Somewhere on his periphery, Tyson Rios barely glimpsed an obscured tumble of awkward movement as his partner ticked off another tally in the body count. The following moments hammered out any would-be retort, though; the world flattened into nothing but muzzle flash, thunder, and heavy shiatsu straight into his collarbone. Long enough, that by the end of it he was starting to wonder if they'd just shot someone popular or something. It ended abruptly- no time to adjust to the relative quiet before the sound of his own heavy breathing flooded his mask. As he jogged up to the next piece of cover a glance in the direction of the shit-disturbing corpse was pretty unsatisfying...until he heard chuckling coming over his com link.
A few steps ahead of him, Elliot Salem was standing over a body - pointing his knife and waving. There, wedged between a barrel and a crate marked "Starfrit", a helmetless caucasian sat up, shot clear through his front teeth.
"Hey Rios! Check it out, I'm a fuckin' dentist!" You couldn't see so much as hear the kid's shiteating grin, but in the next second the whites of his eyes got round and bright as the moon beneath his mask. Two pounding steps later, a graceless crash into the smaller body that jolted both their ribs had them rolling to the ground a hair's breadth away from being peppered by armour-piercing rounds.
"You're about to be a goddamn pincushion." If he sounded annoyed it wasn't out of protective instinct. Seven months on was proving that the other man had a mouth bigger than his brain, and he never shut it either.
To Tyson's chagrin, this time was no different - he just shimmied out from under his arm to throw his SMG up over the crate and fire a one-handed burst in answer to the latest volley. "Man, anyone ever tell you you need to lose a few pounds?"
What was meant to be an irritated tap on the back of the other's head stopped dead at an inch. A lone bullet whizzed just between head and hand, missin either by millimetres. "Sniper!" Whether is was him or Salem or both of them that yelled was impossible to say, but the response was immediate; two sets of eyes desperately scanning the skies in unison with their hearts - his own and the frantic increase of Elliot's in the com's monitor - in each other's ears.
It was no use. Telltale, sickening, and all too familiar, the next crack erupted from overhead to Elliot's agonized scream. It was all he needed, though; split second look to the opposite direction and there was the sun-blacked opposition, painted stark against the dying light. His arm moved before his thoughts could, and the silhouette crumpled in a red spray.
"Rios..." The younger man's voice finally cut through his head, shaky and pitched. Sounding like he never had before- the cocky swagger missing, the loud, brash tone far too quiet. He didn't even need to hear the missing beep on his monitor to know how bad it was; flumes of bright red spurted out from just below his facemask and body armour, and the tense of tendons and adams apple stood out hard with rapid swallows as he fought the pain. Rios couldn't even feel his own muscles as he dragged them both over the crate and into the wall, scrambling for the kid's hand and tearing at his med kit before he could even think of what to do.
"I gotcha, Salem. I gotcha." By sheer luck the thing had missed his artery. Pierced clean through the meat of the trapezius and straight out the back of his vest, the white of Elliot's bone gleamed beneath lacerated flesh and dark blood vessels, but there wasn't a chip on it. He groaned as his straps came off and cried out and hit his thigh feebly as cotton gauze was pushed into the hole, but to his credit laid still enough to let the larger man squeeze the muscle between his hand and stick his neck with the morphine pen.
Soon after, there wasn't a sound to be heard but their breathing and the younger man's faint swearing. Despite everything, he kept it down low enough for just Rios to hear, knowing as well as the other they'd be fucked if there was anyone out there close enough to catch it.
"Hey. You're okay." As much as he knew better, he squeezed the other's hand for long enough to communicate that he meant it as comfort. Even if he should have both free in case they were spotted. Even if it meant that he let his assault rifle hang at his side and flicked open the snap holding his sidearm in its holster. Had to blink and look twice before he realized that Elliot had done the same long ago- blood had since run down his fingers and coated the grip - though his hand shook the weapon so badly he doubted hs could aim it if he tried.
"...Damn it, you -- stupid fucker."
For a second, Tyson couldn't even bring himself to curse at his partner. As soon as he started to speak, the kid had shoved a leg out to kick himself closer to his side, and he was shivering pathetically, burying into him like he was his damn momma or something. there was no question he must've been injured in the field before - hell, he'd seen some pretty wicked scars on his back when it came time to hit the showers, and they probably hadn't gotten there by accident - but with all the nicks and broken fingers and slugs he'd pulled out of his skin in the past six months he'd never seen him react like this. Not once.
"Calm down, Elliot. Quiet now." He tried to make it harsh, commanding, but it came out soft anyway.
"I got it. We're gettin' out."
When the next thing he got was the other's head pressing into his shoulder, his monitor's tone rising up in his ear, he didn't say anything else for the next minute. Let the other units take care of it, he decided. Salem couldn't shoot like this. Just hole up and wait for evac. Cross their fingers that the fight would move up the road and let them book it.
He hadn't realized his own heartbeat was quickening until he felt fingers close around his thigh, patting upward to the dozy question, "You hurt, buddy? Your heart.."
His arm fairly snapped to pull the other off and set it back where it belonged, to both their surprise, jostling them and stoppign just short of coming free. Since when had it gotten around Salem's waist?!
"S'okay, big guy... shit.. jumpy.. we still inna fight?" A glance down told him the younger man's eyes were closed though his knuckles were still white on his pistol, trusting him to react first if trouble were to come around the corner.
He wasn't going to sleep... he swore it to Rios under his breath until the older man finally told him to shut up. Then he told him again just to make sure because fuck all if he wouldn't stop shoving him every few minutes. And he wasn't going to sleep. He wasn't. He just needed to close his eyes because every time he looked down it seemed like there was more blood and it was seriously starting to wig him out. And he knew evac was coming and it was probably okay because all the gunfire had to be miles by now and Rios would never let him bite it - not like this - but the drugs were starting to wear off and he wanted to ask for more but at the same time he didn't want to ask for more because then he wouldn't be able to feel the pain and someone told him that if was when the pain started to go, that was when you were truly fucked but Rios would never let him be fucked and- Without thinking he smacked his head into the nearest surface; meant to hit the wall but connected with the older man's shoulder instead, making him jump and ask what was wrong.
"Fucking motherfucking shoulder!" He blurted before he could remember to keep it down. Not out of the woods yet, stupid! What were you thinking?!
To his surprise, all he got was a clap on the back of the head and a muttered, "Hang in there."
Then the other was silent again- listening for footsteps. All Salem wanted to listen for was the com unit telling him that exfil was ETA in five, but he breathed in deep and clenched his hand around his pistol's grip until it bit in. He was gonna keep it together if it killed him. Rios already took him for a dumb rookie - he knew it - and he wasn't, even though maybe by his old-ass standards he was still young enough to be. He just wasn't dumb. And he wasn't gonna lose it just 'cause he copped some internal body bling. Just... keep hold of his gun and Rios' leg. All he needed right now.
That, and to think about something else right now.
No, not that. For fuck's sake, Elliot.
Probably didn't help that they were getting all cozy right now. Huddled up like this, it was kind of hard to ignore the older man's build - like a damn tank; Rios was bigger than just about any guy he'd ever laid eyes on - which he couldn't deny caught his eye a little. Plus, he wasn't a thing like anybody else he'd ever hooked up with. Like he wouldn't even look at him sideways if he thought anybody would see him. Even if he thought he might be watching. He'd never have even caught on if the hadn't decided to shave in the shower that one time, and even then, if it'd never seen him look again he'd've just figured he was scoping his tats or his scars or something. No harm no foul, right? It had taken him months to even think maybe there was something there and... for the fucking life of him he still didn't know. He could just be desperate for a fuck- mind playing tricks on him. Could be just some sort of ...dunno... mentor crush or drunk semi-thing that some guys did if they didn't get their dicks sucked in a while and that was all shit Salem left behind when he was sixteen, thanks and go fuck yourself.
Or maybe it was all just how bad he wanted to impress him. Get him to crack up during an operation just once, or pull a shot so amazing he had to at least raise his eyebrows. Not that he'd be able to tell with these new "tactical visual systems" they'd been testing out, but all the same... if he could just find and in they this guy... something that'd let him know one way or the other...
And that's when he heard it. Like some kind of sign from god or fate or karma giving him just the kick in the ass he needed. A staticy, fuzzed-out crackle, nearly drowned out by the thud of helicopter blades sounding in both their ears, "In the pipe, unit two. Drop down --- minute. Stand by, over."
He could fill in the damn blank himself, and to hell if he wouldn't. Blame it on the drugs... He shook his hand until his fingers came unclenched; nearly glued to the rubber by his own blood. Blame it on the stress... Shoved up his mask, tossing away the chunk that tore off in his hand where the ricochet had shattered it. Blame it on the blood loss, maybe. Groped until he found Rios' too, and pulled it off his head - just a swift yank before he could get his arm away or drop his sidearm or know where to move his head.
And his shoulder protested like crazy, and vertigo made him pitch over, and fresh blood made his grip slip when he went for the the other's neck to do it, but he caught his head and found his lips before he could move or question or get out a single protest.
Or maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll get to blame this on I like you someday.
Fin.