NOVA
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06/06/2002 - 8am
Phoenix, Arizona
Redhawk Base
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I've made a point of not speaking to Leo since our little sparring match a few days ago. To my devastation, he won.

And also, to my devastation, he wasn't wrong about me being distracted. Hard not to be when a six-foot-four wall of pure aggravation has you pinned with your wrists above your head.

Looks? Devastatingly appealing. Personality? Radioactive.

We've stayed out of each others way, apart from shared angry glares on the off chance our eyes meet, push and shoves if we're walking past each other.

"I'm hoping you're all prepared." North questions us as we stand in a line. He's pacing up and down, analysing us intensely.

"We are. We've decided to push in around 1am, we've identified entry and exit points. We're going to beach from the Southeast side. Nolan, Oliver and Price are going to pass intel about insurgent whereabouts. Mulvey is going to be positioned with the sniper rifle. Me, Hendrix and Devlin are going to go straight in for the assault on Ramirez's location. On the chance he runs out back, Banksy and Lowe are going to wait in cover for him. Once he's been neutralised, the rest of us are going to rig the place with timed explosives, ready to detonate for when we're headed to evacuation." I speak up to him confidently. North nods, not seeming to find any flaws.

"I've spoken with the Colombian Officials. They're going to lend a chopper for Marcus to operate; you'll all retreat when necessary, hopefully with the target in custody. Rosa and Elijah, you'll both be waiting on there, prepared to treat any injuries as soon as possible. Going to be located in the open space of greenery to the west, I've circled it on your map. They're aware of your arrival in EOH airport. They won't intercept, you'll all be transported straight from the runway immediately. We've got a safe house in La Castellana, you'll all stay there until it's time to push in. When the mission is complete, we will aim to get you out of the country as soon as possible."

We all nod in unison, North claps his hands together. "Well, no time to waste. It's a four and a half hour flight. Marcus will transport you all to Phoenix Sky Harbour. You'll be flown out on the Hercules. Any more questions?"

We all shake our heads. The atmosphere is tense. There's always a chance of death with these type of things. With a satisfied expression on his face, North waves over to Marcus; signalling it's time for us to leave.

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06/06/2002 - 11am
C-130 Hercules

Nobody's said a word for the last hour. The engine hums low beneath us like a warning. Tara's hunched over her rifle, tightening the scope with the kind of calm only a sniper can master. Banksy's chewing gum, food tapping against his gear bag in rhythm with the aircraft. Everyone else seems trapped in their own worlds. 

And Leo. Leo hasn't looked at me once. Not even a passing glance. 

Not that I want one. 

Every time we lock eyes lately, he just scowls like I've insulted his dead dog. I shift in my seat for the fifth time in ten minutes. 

Banksy leans over from my left, lifting a brow. "You alright there, Shields? You're fidgeting."

"Yeah. Fine." I offer a half-smile. "Just... running the plan again in my head for the eightieth time."

He chuckles, nudging my boot with his. "Relax, we're prepped to the teeth. We've got backup plans for our backup plans. Just gotta hope nobody bites it, yeah?"

I laugh under my breath, but it fades when his voice drops.

"Off the record... what's the deal with you and Hendrix?" he asks, tone quiet now. "He mentioned something about a mission in '99."

I knew it was coming. I sit back against the cold wall, eyes drifting down to the callouses on my hands.

I heave out a sigh before responding.

"It was Santa Elena," I mutter. "We were part of a temporary strike team. Fleetwood sent agents from different groups. Me and Leo ended up as co-leads. It was a targeted hit on a terrorist who'd been running slaughter campaigns through the outskirts. Intel said they were planning a full-blown massacre that week. Our job was to stop it before it started."

I pause, chewing the inside of my cheek.

"Right from the first briefing, we clashed. He's sharp, I'll give him that, but he's stubborn as hell and cocky enough to make a nun swing. We argued over everything. Entry points, strategy, gear. Even our team placement. Eventually, it got so bad they split us up mid-op."

Banksy lets out a low whistle.

"Target was holed up in a gutted apartment block," I go on, eyes distant now. "Locals had been forced out, and he'd turned the place into a fortress. The plan was to push from the ground floor up, trap him on the roof. We didn't know he had an escape route. There was a ladder, rusted but stable, bolted to the far side of the building."

I exhale slowly.

"We cleared the top floor. No sign of him. I stepped out onto the balcony and saw him halfway down the ladder, hauling ass. I raised my rifle, ready to drop him. And then..." I give a bitter smile. "Leo barged past me. Whether he tripped or was too caught up in playing hero, or my theory, he wanted the final shot. I don't know. He knocked my arm. I lost my grip on the gun, it jammed when I scrambled to reset it. By the time I got it working again, the bastard was gone. Leo caught up to him on ground level and got the shot off, but only just."

Banksy's quiet now. He watches me like he's not sure whether to be sympathetic or impressed.

"We screamed at each other afterward," I say. "I blamed him. He blamed me. It got personal. Vicious. I swore I'd never work with him again. He said the same."

"And now," I add with a humourless laugh, "Fleetwood's gone and made us partners. Like it's some cosmic joke. Couldn't have written it."

Banksy shakes his head. "Christ. No wonder there's tension."

"No shit," I mutter. 

He leans back, thoughtful. "Let's hope history doesn't repeat itself."

I glance across the cabin, where Leo's still pretending I don't exist.

"Yeah," I say. "Let's hope."

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06/06/2002 - 4pm
La Castellana Safe House
Colombia
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I feel like I'm ninety.

 My back's screaming like a banshee from four and a half hours of sitting bolt upright on that slab of military-issue metal they dare call a "chair." The kind of pain that settles between your shoulder blades like a scalding poker. 

I stretch, wince, and press into the sore spot with the heel of my hand. No use. It's fused into me now.

Most of the team's scattered around, checking kit or quietly prepping. Banksy and Nolan are inventorying ammo. 

Tara's flicking through her scope settings like she's disarming a bomb. I'm hunched over a map spread across the floor, tracing the most efficient route to the extraction chopper. One we'll only reach if we don't get our heads blown off first, that is.

And then I feel it. That familiar, unwanted presence behind me. Shadow lengthens over the map, and when I glance up, I'm met with a face I've grown to dread more than enemy fire.

Leo.

Jaw clenched. Arms crossed. Brown eyes hard. That same barely concealed scowl etched into his face like it's been welded there permanently since the moment I showed back up in his life.

He crouches beside me, low and close, voice a low rumble. "Remember what I said."

I roll my eyes before he's even finished. "Jesus, Leo. Can't you go five damn minutes without trying to piss me off? Go bark at someone who gives a fuck."

His stare narrows. "I'm just making sure we're clear. Because if this goes sideways, I know how this ends. You'll throw it back at me. Just like you did in Santa Elena."

I slowly set the pen down I'd been using to mark the trail. "Are you seriously still on about that?" I hiss, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice. "You knocked your fat-ass shoulder into my rifle while I had a clean shot. Dropped it. Jammed it. Target slipped. That's on you."

"Bullshit," he mutters, shaking his head. "You were too slow. You didn't have the shot lined up properly in the first place."

I stare at him. "You're such a self-important little shit. You wanted that final kill. That's why you did it. You couldn't stand the thought of me finishing it. Scheming bastard."

He lets out a low laugh, almost smug, and for a second I consider punching his throat. Or slitting it. "You really believe that, huh? You've made that version so real in your head, you'd probably pass a fucking polygraph."

I shake my head. "If I had a polygraph, I'd shove it up your ass sideways."

His mouth twitches, not quite a grin, but something close. It pisses me off more than a full smile. "Listen. When this goes south. And it will. You'll be the first to cry foul. That's who you are."

I stand up, dusting my hands off. "And I'll be the first to take credit if it goes to plan. Deal with it, prick."

He's still crouched, staring up at me with that same irritating look he always seems to give when he's deciding whether to punch someone or kill them instead. I turn and walk off before I decide for him.

Tara appears beside me like she's been waiting for the storm to pass. "Jesus Christ," she mutters, nodding in Leo's direction. "That guy's a damn heat rash."

"Tell me about it," I grunt, rubbing the side of my temple. "If I have to spend another minute in the same room as him, I'm putting my gun to my own temple. He's such a bastard."

She snorts. "Well, you're doing better than I expected. Thought you two were gonna throw each other out of the plane earlier. You didn't even talk. That's a solid win."

I chuckle without humour. "Has he always been like this? Since Richards died?"

Tara leans against the table, arms crossed. "Honestly? No. I mean, Leo's always been cocky, sure. Arrogant. But this-" she gestures toward where he's now talking with Jed, his arms gesticulating sharply "-this attitude of his? This brooding, ticking-time-bomb thing? That started the second you stepped on base."

I raise an eyebrow. "So I'm his trigger?"

"You're something," she says with a smirk. "Banksy filled me in on Santa Elena. If he did knock your rifle on purpose, that's low. Especially on a job like that."

I shrug. "If it was an accident, he'd have admitted it. But he didn't. And he won't. That's who he is. A stubborn ass."

She nods, then shifts the conversation. "Anyway, check this out." She points to the car park on my map. "I scoped out the satellite grid again. It's been abandoned for years. Construction halted because of ground stability or some shit. Means I'll have a clean roof, no interference, and maybe even a vantage point for escape."

I hum along. "Think you can make it to the extraction if things heat up?"

She nods. "Easy. It's not far. I'll radio if I get pinned down."

I exhale, pressing my fingers into my eye sockets to relieve the pressure building in my skull. "Okay. That gives me a little peace of mind.

Across the room, some of the group are starting to stretch out on the rough beds, trying to steal some rest before nightfall. I don't blame them. We've got a long night ahead of us, and God knows I'm not exactly functioning on fresh energy.

I roll up the map, tuck it into my kit, and follow their lead, easing down beside my gear and letting my head fall back with a quiet thud.

A few hours' sleep. That's all I need.

Just enough to keep me sharp. Just enough to stay one step ahead.

Because when that warehouse door opens tonight, I'll either be the one making the shot. Or watching everything go to hell.