Beata Maria

     Midnighter had a handful of bloody bullets by the time they pulled up, rolling the little metal bastards around in his palm. Jason might have passed over the handgun, but Midnighter just sneered at it and shoved the firearm back into Jason’s grip before plucking his knife up again where it rested on his thigh after being used as a casual surgical tool. He threw the knife expertly, and for lack of a better work, completely ruined the camera, leaving exposed pieces of tech looking sad and broken and a knife embedded where there used to be a camera. 

Jason scoffed, trying to down play how impressed he was.  He took the gun back and holstered it. “That knife was probably more expensive than a single bullet,” he pointed out as he opened the door and slipped out.  The kids in the back were scared, but the priest coaxed them out with promises of safety.  

     Midnighter felt Jason’s gaze on him and reacted like any regular person — by staring back without flinching in the least, even after Jason started to speak again. By that point, Midnighter had flipped open one of the smaller knives he kept on himself and was in the process of digging any lodged bullets out of his chest.

Jason scoffed and turned his attention back to the road.  “You’re staying in the car when we reach the embassy,” he said, “You’ll scare the kids.”

     It was almost like Jason didn’t think him a professional. A scoff sounded, Midnighter attentively watching the scenery flick past and listening to the even beats of several small hearts. His mind was made up already; talking to Jason about it was simply passing the time.

Jason glanced at Midnighter out of the corner of his eye.  Oh, he was sure the man could be plenty convincing.  That wasn’t the point.  Jason had his orders, and he had to follow them.  Midnighter might be anti-authority, but the truth was that the Vatican considered him one of their weapons right now, as laughable as Jason thought that was.  No one controlled Midnighter.  He was a force of his own, and he did what he wanted.

     Midnighter had a clever reply all raring to go, but Jason was already calling him done and, well, he couldn’t exactly argue when camaraderie-filled arm pats were involved. It wasn’t as if he was showing any signs of pain — there wasn’t any — and he wasn’t shaken in the least — he’d had far worse than several bullets embedded in his chest — but if it made his all-too-human, very breakable friend relax and not fidget or complain…

Jason took apart the sniper rifle and tucked it back under the passenger seat.  The car came to a stop and Midnighter got out, Jason just sliding across the seat to take the wheel.  After a quick mirror adjustment he was ready to go.

     Midnighter, in the moment, was three very particular things:

Adrenaline left Jason’s hands shaking.  When he sat up, he felt shards of glass cascade off his back and out of his hair, raining down around him like little diamonds.  “You’re--” language, Jason, “...Crazy,” he said, shaking the glass off his gun and arching his head out the window to make sure they really were in the clear.  “Right, okay.  We’re...” Jason did the mental math, recalling the map of the city he’d memorized this morning, “2.3 miles from the nearest safe embassy.”  He glanced at Midnighter, and the oozing wounds in his flesh.  “How long does it take for all that to,” he waved a vague hand at Midnighter’s entire body, “Stop?”

     Midnighter evened out the wheel according to Jason’s request and settled his eyes on the road ahead as opposed to watching the other work, which he would have been happy to do if not busy making sure the crowd of kids in the back didn’t get jostled too much. The sound of the bullet was beautiful all the same, metal screeching to the side he didn’t look. The acrid, mixed scents of rubber and blood both reached his nose.

Jason’s heart jolted when the truck lurched forward, another less-than-holy word on the tip of his tongue drowned out by the roar of the engine.  His wild gaze shot to Midnighter, a look of incredulous shock on his face. “Are you kidding?” he asked, his gaze shooting forward again.

     The alarm was music to Midnighter’s ears, and his gaze slid to Jason, following the other’s form as he ran around the car. Midnighter slipped into the driver’s seat without protest, adjusting mirrors and seat position alike as Jason prepared himself.

“Last I checked,” Jason placed the rifle’s barrel on the window edge, “The power of Christ didn’t compel murderers and rapists to stop mid-crime.”  He looked down into the sight, leveling it at the car approaching them from behind, “Think you can drive a little smoother?” He called out, trying to line up his shot.  He could see the passenger pulling out his handgun, aiming it at their car...

 The last thing Bianca wanted to do was pressure him into something he was uncomfortable with. She kept her hand on his stomach and rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. It was just a suggestion, love.”      Sometimes Bianca wondered if Jason even knew how to let himself have something. The term ‘treat yourself’ didn’t seem to register in his head too well. Her fingers poked his tummy to tickle him gently, smiling up at him.