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Between Past and Present Tense

Summary:

They’re barely away from the staggeringly tall glass of London’s financial district before Nile hits the wall.

Notes:

The second airplane fic, set between pouring five warriors into a standard sized car and going for drinks-and-a-banishment. Built around the fact that Andy, still bleeding heavily from her side, decided to drive and Nicky, not the smallest man and also not super impressed with Booker, took the middle seat in the back.

Title from the Weakerthans, "Aside" courtesy of the woman who's so creative that her phd thesis title was just a one sentence description of her thesis.

Work Text:

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They’re barely away from the staggeringly tall glass of London’s financial district before Nile hits the wall. It’s not the first time and it shouldn’t feel strange, her vision blurring and swaying in time with Andy’s aggressive driving. But, fatigue after a post-allnighter exam or at the end of days of tense travel in a convoy could be expected. Anticipated. Everything is strange now.

“Really?” she mutters to herself. To the part of herself that can play dead while being actually killed in a hallway and then rise to shoot three men. Nicky, knees near his ears and shoulders tucked neatly forward to give both her and Booker space, glances at her questioningly. She holds a hand up in response and his quick eyes immediately catch the tiny tremble in her fingers.

“Andy,” he says calmly. Nicky always seems calm, she thinks. The adrenaline crash is making closing her eyes an effort and opening them even worse.

Andy grunts and makes eye contact through the rear view. “You okay, kid.”

“Fine,” Nile manages and squares her shoulders. She’s a marine. She is not the weak link in their (Copley’s) getaway car.

“I could use a bed, boss,” Joe announces. He’s still staring out the window, slouched down in the seat but still with the tight posture that Nile recognizes from an active watch. She hadn’t seen him look at her or Nicky to pick up the thread, but as soon as he’s spoken one of Nicky’s hands reaches out to squeeze his shoulder and lingers.

“We need to get away from London,” Andy says flatly. “I want to be in Canterbury before dark falls. You can have a bed then, and we'll decide what to do next."

Joe shoots back, “You’re still bleeding.”

Nile doesn’t know Andy very well yet, but she’s also seen dead people with less blood on their shirts and Andy’s ax can only explain so much of it. It's worth playing along with Joe if it’ll stop the nausea of sitting in the backseat while the car whips around traffic circles on the wrong side of the road.

 “I could patch you up if we crashed for a few hours. We all had to learn basic field medicine before we shipped out," Nile offers.

“I can do it. And I’ll take watch,” Booker adds. It’s the first time he’s spoken since they got in the car. He hasn’t looked away from his clasped hands.

“Oh, you’re going to keep us safe—“ Joe starts up and she sees Nicky’s hand flex to dissuade him from turning to face Booker. Joe subsides, still without looking back, and mutters, “yeah, I bet you can’t sleep.”

"It can wait, Joe," Nicky murmurs. Nile can see that it's a threat to Booker rather than a protection, and knows Booker sees it too. "We have time."

The consensus seems to flip Andy. There’s a truly extravagant eyeroll and she’s signaling to change lanes for an off ramp. Within moments they’re down a side road. There are sheep audible but the greenery rises vibrant and thick around them. It feels claustrophobic when Andy noses the car off the road and into the shrubs, throwing them into park.

“An hour,” she announces. “I’ll—“

“I’ll take watch,” Booker repeats, slightly louder if not more forcefully. Nile can see the debate play out on Andy’s face but in the end the newly persistent pain from her side must win out over her pride.

“You can patch me up,” she consents to Booker. “Go to sleep, Nile.”

There’s a brief flurry of movement in the car. Booker has the first aid kit from under his seat and opens his door. Joe, still tense as an angry cat, pointedly chooses the other way around the car when they switch seats so they never come within arm’s reach. When he settles into Booker's vacated back seat, Nicky shoots a crooked smile at Nile and twists so his legs are resting over Joe's left leg in his lap.

Nile sense of the paradox continues when she looks at them: two inexplicable crusaders working in smooth tandem to act like sharing the backseat of a car with a third adult is a casual activity. Joe sits back as Nicky repositions to fit their legs in the cramped footwell, hooking his right ankle under Joe’s and checking the pistol’s safety twice. When Nicky settles, Joe brings both arms up around his waist, gently rests his forehead against the side of Nicky’s. Nile unbuckles to get comfortable herself, wedged upright against the corner of the seat and car door and carefully extending her legs carefully until her feet bump Joe’s.

“Rest well,” Nicky says earnestly. Joe's breathing has already leveled out. Another flashback;  Andy, “you know how this works. Get some sleep.”

Nile is so tired and so awake. Her body is tense in all the places from fingertips to toes where she knows she was just broken and is again whole.

“One hour,” Andy repeats sternly and the world slides sideways as Nile falls asleep between one breath and another.