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“Washington, you at the control panel yet?” Agent North Dakota’s voice filtered over the radio. Washington peered out into the corridor, his eyes zeroing in at the door at the end of the hall. The ship was still empty—concerningly empty, but he had a job to do.
“Almost, sir,” Washington replied, moving down the hall as quickly and quietly as possible. The radio fell silent for a moment, and Washington focused on picking the lock to the room—he wasn’t as good as Agent York, but he could do it.
“Did you just call him “sir”?” Agent York asked, sounding like he was close to laughing. Washington’s face flushed, and he was glad no one was around to see him—he was still getting used to the dynamics of the Freelancers.
“Just “North” is fine, Washington,” Agent North Dakota- Agent North said, not unkindly. “Save “sir” for the Director.”
“I dunno, North, I think the power might be going to your head.”
Washington blocked out their chatting and focused on the task at hand; it took longer than he wanted to admit to gain access. When he finally heard the lock click he took a breath to steel himself, then kicked in the door and dove in, ready for a fight—but no one was there.
Washington aimed his gun around the room, but it was completely empty. There was a window at the other side of the room, overlooking the cargo bay, but when he peered through, it was also empty. Something about this whole thing felt wrong to Washington, but he wasn’t about to refuse orders—Freelancer was his last shot, and he wasn’t going to mess it up.
“I’m at the control panel,” Washington said, pulling out the data pad and inserting it into the computer. “Downloading information now.”
“Any trouble?” Agent North asked.
“No, s- no.”
“Too quiet,” Agent Maine spoke up; Washington was glad the others had told him to turn up Agent Maine’s channel on the radio, because he was surprisingly soft spoken.
“I agree with Maine. Something’s not right,” Agent York said, and Washington realized that under Agent York’s light hearted demeanor, he sounded stressed.
Something caught Washington’s eye and he turned, gun raised and ready for a fight—to instead see a small, blinking red light. Washington took a couple of cautious steps closer, clutching his battle rifle tight. The light was obscured behind the open door, and when he kicked the door shut his stomach dropped.
Hidden behind the door and attached to the wall was a neat little package of C4.
“It’s a trap, run-!” Washington shouted, backing away from the door, but there was nowhere else for him to go-
BOOM
The shockwave hit Washington and sent him sailing backwards. He was vaguely aware of the sound of glass shattering as he was thrown through a window, and then everything went dark.
…
…
…
He groaned and rolled over on his side, blinking hard in an attempt to get his vision to focus. There was a loud ringing in his ears that slowly faded out to reveal voices.
“-lost the rookie on his first mission.”
Ow, his entire body hurt. He felt like he had a truck resting on his chest, his head swam every time he blinked, and his right leg radiated pain in a way that made him wary of checking the damage.
“I'm getting vitals, so he's still alive. For now. Maine, you're closest, see if you can scrape him off the ground.”
“Fine.”
“Agent Washington—do you copy?”
He looked around at his surroundings, trying to piece together his last movements. He was on a ship of some kind, in a cargo bay. He heard far off shouting and guns firing, but there was no one in his immediate vicinity.
“I'm taking fire here, North.”
“So am I. This was definitely a trap. I repeat: Washington, do you read me?”
It was then that he realized he was Washington—he still wasn't used to responding to that name.
“'m here,” he mumbled, pushing himself up into a sitting position. The movement sent a wave of pain racing through his body. “Goddamn cocksucking son of a bitch,” he hissed, running through a string of profanities as he got himself upright and leaning against the wall.
“Oh good, he's not dead.” Washington now recognized that voice as Agent York—and realized he’d said that last part over the radio. Oops. Oh well, he was in too much pain to feel embarrassed.
“What happened?” He asked, trying to shake his head clear. He remembered a bomb hidden behind a door, and when he looked up he saw a dent in the wall above him that he suspected he made. He was a good fifty feet out from the control room window, and then another fifty feet down from the window—he was surprised he wasn’t more injured.
“They were expecting us. We walked right into a trap,” Agent North said. “You still in the control room?”
“No, I’m in the cargo bay.” A cargo bay that was suspiciously empty of cargo, but at least that meant there weren’t any Insurrectionists around him either.
“Can you move?”
“Uh.” Washington looked at his leg, which was bent in a way legs were not supposed to bend. Bile rose in his throat at the sight and he swallowed hard and looked away.
“Alright, sit tight. Maine will be at your location soon.”
Washington refrained from swearing again—he knew something was off with this ship, with how empty it was, and he hadn’t fucking said anything because the last time he pointed out a problem with his orders he got fucking court martialed.
A shadow fell over him, and Washington looked up to see Agent Maine standing over him. Maine held out a hand, and Washington grit his teeth and then took it, allowing Maine to pull him to his feet. He bit down on a string of curses as the movement jostled his leg, sending a wave of pain through him.
“Got him,” Maine said, though Washington heard him more clearly over the radio, despite the fact that Maine stood in front of him.
“Good, fall back to York’s position. I’m keeping our exit clear,” Agent North replied.
It took a second for them to figure out a way to move at all. Washington couldn’t put weight on his right leg, and he was too short—or Maine was too tall—to throw an arm around Maine’s shoulders. In the end, they linked their arms together like they were on a fucking date, and Washington used the leverage to avoid putting weight on his leg. They couldn’t move fast, but at least they were moving.
Washington figured the reason no Insurrectionists had come after him was because they assumed he’d die in the explosion—which was a fair assumption to make, but he wasn’t going down that easily. However he knew once they reached the halls of the ship, where he could already hear people shouting and running, the Insurrectionists would be on them in a heartbeat. They weren’t exactly stealthy.
He was right to be worried, because they barely made it five feet into the hall when a door banged open behind them.
“There they are!” Someone shouted. Washington glanced over his shoulders and saw a platoon of Insurrectionists flood the halls. A bolt of fear raced through him, and he stumbled in his haste to keep moving.
A better man than Washington might’ve stepped back, dropped Maine’s arm, told him “it’s too late for me, save yourself,” and then turned and fired on their enemies while giving his teammates enough time to escape.
Washington was not a good man.
He was worried the others would abandon him—and why wouldn’t they? He was the rookie, he wasn’t close with any of them, hadn’t proved himself, and it was his own fucking fault he got injured because he walked right into a trap.
And now he was slowing them down while they tried to escape.
“Hold on,” Maine muttered. The world tilted as Maine scooped him up in one arm, threw Washington over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and took off down the hall. Maine was much faster by himself, and by the time Washington adjusted to his situation and drew his gun to fire on their attackers, they’d turned a corner and were out of sight.
Someone laughed nearby, bright and loud, and Washington craned his neck to see Agent York join them. Maine had to slow his pace to allow the other agent to keep up, possibly more than normal because Agent York couldn’t stop laughing.
“God, that’s hilarious,” Agent York cackled, going so far as to slap a hand against his leg. Washington’s face flushed, and he was glad he had on his helmet so no one could see how red he got. It wasn’t the most dignified way to be carried, but he’d take anything over being left behind.
There were more shouts as another group of Insurrectionists followed them into the hall, and Washington focused on picking off as many as he could. He was a pretty good shot, even when being carried over Maine’s shoulder, and he took several out. But no matter how many he took out, more joined them, until they were nearly on top of the three Freelancers.
“Here.” Maine slid to a stop, and Washington had a moment of panic as Maine set him down—onto Agent York’s back. As soon as Washington was no longer in Maine’s arms he turned and punched one of the guys chasing them, hard enough that Washington heard a sickening crack before the Insurrectionist hit the floor.
“God, you’re heavy,” York complained, hefting Washington up. The movement sent another wave of pain through Washington’s leg, and he barely bit back on another curse, tightening his arms around York’s shoulders. “Keep up!” York called to Maine, and then kept running.
In this position, Washington couldn’t turn and fire on their enemies, but that was okay since Maine was still back there causing problems, and Washington didn’t want to accidentally hit him instead. Each step of York’s jostled his leg, but adrenaline was one hell of a painkiller and after a while Washington barely felt it.
“Almost to you!” York shouted, and it took Washington a second to realize he was talking to Agent North over the radio. “Coming in hot.”
York skidded around another corner, Maine only a little ways behind them, and they were joined by a figure in purple and green armor.
“Having fun, Wash?” Agent North asked, his tone light and teasing despite how they were being chased by people who wanted to kill them.
“It wasn’t my choice,” Washington felt the urge to speak up.
“Yeah, Maine can get a little handsy,” York joked.
They reached another hall that was supposed to lead to their exit, but instead found their way blocked by a locked door.
“I thought you said you were keeping our exit open?” York asked Agent North.
“I was! I did! I- I can’t be everywhere at once,” Agent North said. York sighed, then adjusted his grip on Washington.
“Here, take Wash and let me handle it,” York ordered. York deposited Washington on the ground, and as he stepped away Agent North stepped forward, slinging Washington’s arm around his shoulder to keep him standing as York got to work on the lock.
“How’s your first mission going, Wash?” Agent North joked.
“Could be better,” Washington said, feeling a little lightheaded at all of the movement. Maine was behind them, taking up the whole hallway as he took out enemies. Washington didn’t feel confident in his ability to shoot without hitting Maine, but Agent North clearly felt differently, and picked off a couple enemies from where he stood.
“Done!” York said, and the door slid open.
“C’mon, Maine!” Agent North shouted. “Sorry about this, Wash,” he added, and before Wash could protest, North scooped him up, carrying him bridal-style as they ran down the hall.
Wash was glad for the pain that hit him at the movement, because it meant he didn’t have the brain space to be embarrassed. It certainly was embarrassing, but Wash figured he’d wait to complain about it until they were safe.
“Niner, we’re running a hot exit out of the starboard bay door,” North called as they ran.
“Roger, I’ll be there,” Four-Seven-Niner responded over the radio.
“How is she gonna dock in the middle of a fight?” Wash asked no one.
“You doubt me, rookie?” Niner said, and Wash once again realized he’d spoken over the radio when he hadn’t meant to.
“No, I don’t- that’s not-” he sputtered, but he felt North laughing at him, and something halfway between a laugh and a scream bubbled up in his chest.
“Maine!” North shouted as they reached the appropriate door. Maine finished throwing someone against the wall and then fell into step alongside North, allowing North to once again deposit Wash into Maine’s arms. North keyed something into the control panel by the door and it slid open, and the pressure differential sucked them out into space.
Wash did scream at that. They were suddenly floating in space without jetpacks or anything to let them move and oh god they were going to drift aimlessly until they died-
And then he screamed again as a pelican sped up out of nowhere, on track to mow them down. Instead of running them over, the ship banked hard, spinning a full 180 degrees, and Wash barely had time to note that the back bay doors were open before they were all scooped up inside of the ship. The doors closed as the ship finished spinning around, and then they took off.
They dropped to the floor at the force of acceleration, and Wash was glad that Maine was still holding him because it cushioned his fall. They were all silent for a long moment, catching their breath at the narrow escape.
“Everyone alive?” Niner called out to them.
“Surprisingly, yes,” North responded. Maine stood up and walked over to one of the chairs, depositing Wash down in it.
Now that they were safe, Wash felt every jolt of movement from their escape, and he thunked his head against the safety bar and groaned.
“Hell of a first mission, rookie,” York joked. “How’s the leg?”
“Fucking hurts,” Wash said through gritted teeth. He felt someone take the seat next to him, and when he cracked his eyes open he saw purple armor.
“That looks like a bad break,” North said. “You did well.” Wash lifted his head and stared at North in disbelief.
“I did well?” Wash repeated. “I walked into a trap, got blown up, had to get carried to safety, and we didn’t even get what we came for!” His voice rose in pitch the longer he spoke, and he couldn’t quite tamp down his hysteria. He’d royally fucked up his first mission, and he was worried the Director would kick him out of the program.
“Well, yeah,” York agreed, “but you looked hilarious while getting carried. Plus, you scream like a little girl.” Wash stared in disbelief for a moment, getting ready to yell and defend himself, when he realized York was fighting back a laugh. And—more importantly—they’d gone back for him, and took the time to make sure he was okay. Which was more than his previous team had ever done.
All the anger drained out of him and he slumped back in his seat.
“Fuck you,” he said, without any real heat to it. That broke York and he doubled over laughing.
“God, you should’ve seen yourself! I should’ve taken a picture,” York cackled. North’s shoulders were shaking in silent mirth, and even Maine huffed out a laugh.
“It was pretty funny,” North said, nudging Wash with his elbow.
“I can’t wait to tell the others. Connie’s gonna lose her shit,” York laughed. Wash groaned and buried his face in his hands.
“I hate you all.”
York threw himself into the seat on Wash’s other side and slung an arm around his shoulder. “No, you don’t! Besides, we’ve survived a life-or-death situation together. That means we’re bonded forever,” he said sagely. Wash tried to shove him off, but the movement only jostled his leg and he hissed in pain.
“Maine,” Wash said, looking towards Maine plaintively. Maine held his hands up in surrender and backed away, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I got blown up for this,” he mumbled, but he couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.
“Hey, you survived, that’s more than some recruits can say,” North said.
“Yeah, you’re officially part of the team,” York said, clapping a hand on Wash’s shoulder. Wash thought about his last team, the people he’d disobeyed direct orders to save, and who abandoned him the second it was convenient. Even though it would’ve made their lives easier, none of the other Freelancers seemed to even consider leaving him behind.
Wash grinned again and settled back into his seat—yeah, he could get used to working with these people.