#forestcreatures

Lane rolls her eyes, immediately wincing as a fresh ache blooms behind them.

The mission should have been simple. Clean and quick. She and Nate (“The dream team,” she’d remarked.) had orders to pull some straightforward, albeit delicate, information out of a dead-drop supposedly used by the active trappers in the area. The golden scenario: they’d gather a lead on some sort of rendezvous happening amongst their increased numbers in Wayhaven. This would be the Agency’s first big break in ferreting out a hiding place since their introductory confrontation in the sewers. Months ago.

Fuck.

Of course, the dead-drop in the middle of the woods was a ruse. Nothing more than a ploy to lure the agents in the area into an ambush. That the fragile human with the freaky, mutated blood and the huge bounty on her head was to be their target was merely a wonderful coincidence.

Nate had managed to take a number of them down before Lane even felt compelled to unholster her volt-gun. As far as an ambush went—this was pretty pathetic.

She hadn’t had much time to fully unpack that thought before someone—a rookie, she supposed, as they apparently hadn’t gotten the ‘we want her alive’ memo—had flanked her, sheathing a simple pocket knife deep into her left side. There were some cheap shots after that. Hits to the head, the ribs, a snapped wrist. It was all pretty embarrassing.

The scuffle had really blurred past the stab, as far as Lane’s shock-addled memory was concerned. It eventually ended, with the trappers dispatched and her companion nearly bowed over, wracked with his concern for her.

She knows that Nate’s struggled with her blood before. They’ve talked about it. Maybe she’s lightheaded and woozy, but Lane trusts him now.

His fingers flex and clench into fists at his sides. She’s panting in ragged, labored breaths, watching with rapt attention as his fresh wounds heal themselves. Nate’s voice is tight, heavily strained as he speaks.

“Lane, your safety is my priority. I would carry you- rush you to the facility for immediate medical attention,” he pauses. She can see it. Desperation. Clawing for composure. Lane smiles as much as she can.

“It wouldn’t be safe,” she finishes. Nate squeezes his eyes shut for a horrible moment. It crushes her to see him like this. “Thank you, Nate.” I love you and you tried and I still trust you. Lane chokes back a sob and resigns herself to hold them together.

His head jerks on what Lane assumes is a nod before he’s turned away, phone ripped from his pocket to call for backup.

Grimacing at the exhaustion, she shakily grips for her own phone. Dials the only number she thinks to call.

“About time, sweetheart. You on your way back?” the words tumble out, short and concerned. Lane huffs out a laugh.

“We will be, soon.”

Blood runs heavily over the hand pressed to her wound. She’s been here before. She wasn’t sure, then, if she’d have enough time, and she’s near certain she doesn’t now.

A tense moment passes before Mason, nervous—so nervous—speaks again. “What happened? I’m coming. Don’t move.”

They’re fast. Lane knows that the team could make it to her before any medical aid had the chance to. Beyond that, she doesn’t know that she’ll be conscious when he finds her there. Beyond that? She doesn’t necessarily know that she’ll make it at all.

“Hey,” she says before he can hurriedly slam the ‘end’ button.

“What?” Mason practically growls. Not the best time to hold him up, then.

“The first time you were in my office—when we met. Do you remember that?” she sounds wrecked and now is not the time for this.

Lane thinks he’s going to give her some gruff reprimand and hang up. He doesn’t. There’s a weighted pause, and an exhale. “I remember, yeah.”

Her smile spreads slowly, spiting the pain of it. She hopes he hears it.

“You pissed me off,” Lane says.

“It was mutual,” Mason counters.

“You still piss me off,” they’re speaking so quietly. Soft, like a secret kept between them.

“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s still mutual,” just as soft. Asked and answered.

Another pause, heavy and fragile.

“I think we’re good together.”

Lane’s rolled onto her back, eyes locked on the stars visible passed the leaves of the tall, tall trees. They’re beautiful. She thinks about counting them, but doesn’t know if focusing on anything too hard will do her blaring headache any good. A moment passes, and wailing sirens begin to cut through the hush. Nate must be off, waiting to greet the medics.

Mason breaks her revery.

“Keep your goddamn eyes open. I’m on my way.”

The call ends.