LEO
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02/06/2002 - 6:30am
La Castellana Safe House
Colombia
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The first cracks of sunlight are starting to bleed through the boarded-up windows, soft lines of gold cutting through the dust-choked air. 

The room is still half-asleep, scattered with the limp bodies of operatives recovering from the kind of night that leaves even the most hardened of us stretched thin. But I'm already up, already restless.

She's still asleep.

Nova.

Lying motionless on the mattress, her breathing even, the faint light settles across her face in a way that strips her down to something quieter than she is when she's conscious. 

Peaceful. Innocent, almost. It's deceptive as hell. 

If someone walked into this room without context, they'd assume she was some college girl who took a wrong turn, not a woman who nearly bled out with metal in her thigh twenty-four hours ago.

But I know better.

Behind that deceptively delicate face is a steel-reinforced will and a mouth that never fucking stops. She's got a temper that could torch a city and the discipline to drag herself through missions that would send lesser people home in body bags. 

Still, it's weird to see her like this. Soft. Quiet. Human.

—

I lean back against the wall later in the morning, cleaning out the barrel of my rifle, letting the metal scrape and click between my hands to keep myself grounded. 

Rosa's already on Nova's leg like a moth to a flame, changing the dressing, checking the stitches, making sure the shard of hell that got pulled out of her leg hasn't left a parting gift like sepsis.

"You're lucky it didn't nick your artery," Rosa says under her breath, unwinding the bandage.

Nova doesn't flinch. Doesn't say a word until Rosa dabs antiseptic across the stitches. Her fingers twitch, I don't miss that. 

"How long before I'm mobile?" she asks, voice hoarse.

"Surface wound will seal in a week. But that metal did more than scratch you up. You'll feel it for longer than that. Take it easy."

I glance over at her, still polishing the bolt. Nova lifts her leg slightly so Rosa can wrap a fresh layer of gauze around it. She's masking the pain well, but I can see it. The way her jaw clenches. The minute wince that flashes through her eyes.

Tough, yeah. But not invincible.

Devlin's laughing with Banksy across the room, both of them getting patched up by Elijah after taking grazes in the warehouse. Mulvey's checking weapons. 

Nolan's sleeping with one eye open, hand slapped over his forehead as if that's gonna do any fucking good to muffle the commotion. 

I run a quick inventory on my own kit, slapping fresh mags into place, counting every piece with muscle memory alone.

Then the phone rings. Everyone goes still.

I cross the room in three strides and snatch it up. "Hendrix."

"Successful or not?" North's rough voice crackles like sandpaper through the line.

"Successful. Warehouse is rubble, Ramirez is in Colombian custody."

"Any of ours dead?" He urges. 

"Negative. Injuries, but we're breathing."

"Good. When are you ready for exfil?"

"Few hours. Marcus is prepping the Hercules now. Should be gone by 11:30."

There's a beat of silence. Then,"I take it you managed to not kill each other, you and Shields?"

I hesitate, glancing at her. Nova's got her head turned, talking quietly to Mulvey now. "We cooperated," I say finally. "More or less."

North grunts, a breath that might be a laugh. Then he hangs up.

I lower the receiver, static humming in my ear for a second before I slam it back into its cradle. I face the room.

"We're moving out in an hour. Get your shit together."

Everyone starts moving. 

It's that unspoken shift from downtime to prep, something we've all been conditioned into. Boots hitting floorboards, zippers pulled, weapons checked. A rhythm.

I crouch to grab my rifle from the stash beside my cot, double-checking the chamber and the weight of the mag, when something hard knocks against the side of my leg. 

I stand too fast, pivot to sling it over my shoulder, and catch Nova square in the face with the barrel.

It's not enough to knock her out, but she jolts, steps back awkwardly, clearly trying to avoid putting weight on her injured leg.

"The fuck, Leo?" she snaps, blinking once, then twice. "I offer you a bed, and this is how you thank me? A rifle to the face?"

My mouth twitches. Not with guilt. With amusement. "You got in the way," I mutter, adjusting the strap and raising an eyebrow.

She scoffs and folds her arms. "Maybe you should try being aware of your surroundings before you start swinging metal objects like a caveman."

I hum. "Maybe you should try staying out of swinging range."

She glares like she wants to shove me out of the nearest boarded window, but doesn't bother with a comeback this time. She's too busy shifting her weight subtly, doing a poor job of hiding how much her leg is hurting. 

I gesture to it. "How's the thigh?"

Her face changes. Just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice, but I know the difference. She squints at me like I've just asked her if she wants to hold hands.

"You asking because you care?" she asks, voice laced with sarcasm and that irritating little smirk she pulls when she thinks she's got the upper hand.

I give her the most nonchalant shrug I can muster. "I mean, more so I know how long you'll be fucking useless for."

She snorts. "Thanks for the sympathy."

"Don't mention it."

"I won't be useless, by the way." She raises her chin a little, like she's daring me to argue.

I do. "You got scrap metal yanked out of your thigh less than twelve hours ago. You're about as useful as a jammed pistol right now."

"I've walked on worse."

I tilt my head. "Oh? Enlighten me."

"Two leg shots back in two-thousand, the Reg Salmen op. Walked out just fine. This? Walk in the park."

She says it like she believes it, but she's lying. I can see it. 

Her shoulders are pulled too tight, and her eyes are flickering, searching for a reaction, trying to sell the story. It pisses me off more than it should.

"Well, aren't you resilient," I mutter, turning to check the rifle again.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, Hendrix."

"Shame."

She goes back to sorting her gear, and for a second, I think that's the end of it. But of course, Nova can't keep her damn mouth shut.

"What happened back there?" she asks. "When you froze. You blanked out like you weren't even in the building."

My body stiffens before I even register the motion. She's talking about the mission. About where I hesitated. About where all I could see for a second was Carlos' brain blown-out on the floor. 

I keep my face blank as I turn around to face her again. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She narrows her eyes. "You do. And I need to know if it's going to happen again. I can't partner with someone who mentally checks out in a firefight."

My jaw tenses. "You're injured. Maybe shut your mouth and stop pretending you're in a position to lecture anyone."

"That's not an answer."

"That's the only answer you're getting," I snap. "Back off."

She doesn't. Of course she doesn't. "You're dodging. Just admit it. Something rattled you."

I grit my teeth. "You know, you get real fucking chatty when you're supposed to be convalescing."

"And you get real fucking defensive when someone pokes too close to whatever the hell is rattling around in that skull of yours." She fires back. 

It comes out before I can stop it.

"Well, you get real cagey when anyone brings up your family issues. What was it, Nova?" The look on her face is inexplicable, but my mouth doesn't stop. "Did mommy ditch you? Screw you up so bad you ended up here with a death wish and a superiority complex?"

The slap catches me clean across the cheek. 

Sharp. Loud. Everyone turns for a second, then pretends they didn't see anything. I stay frozen, hand to my jaw. My skin doesn't sting, but my ego sure as hell does.

She stares up at me, green eyes burning like wildfire. Her voice is a low, venom-laced snarl. "You cross that line again, I'll break your fucking nose."

I feel something uncoil in my chest. Rage or guilt or just the slow realisation that I've gone too far. Jed steps between us, wide-eyed and quiet.

"Alright. Enough," he says firmly. "Not here. Not now. Not after we just secured that success." 

I barely hear him. My pulse is thudding. "I don't know where the line is, Nova," I growl. "You never say shit. You act like everyone else is the problem while you walk around with this goddamn chip on your shoulder."

She doesn't answer. She turns her back on me like I'm not even worth it. That pisses me off more than the slap.

Mulvey moves in from the side and places a hand gently on her back, leading her toward her bag, probably trying to de-escalate. 

Jed puts a hand on my arm, gives me a look like I'm the one who needs to calm down.

"Leave it, Leo," he mutters. "It's not worth it. We're wheels-up in an hour. Don't fuck it."

I don't respond. My fists are clenched, heart thudding, chest tight. 

I glance back at Nova, watching as she limps away. Watching Mulvey lean down and speak low, calming her. Watching her ignore it all, too proud to look hurt even though I know she is.

The silence between us is loud.

This is supposed to be a clean exfil. No drama. No tension. And instead, it's another mess between me and the woman who has somehow wormed her way under my skin since '99. 

I turn, rifle slung across my back, and storm out into the hallway. I need air. I need space. I need to remember why I didn't just leave her in that warehouse.

Because if this is what partnership looks like, maybe the Commanders did make the wrong fucking call.