#iwishthiswassmut

Using only my legs and an arm I fight frantically to stay afloat. I look back into the blinding mist. A shape breaks the surface. The white skull mask gleams like a drowned phantom. 

Suddenly the riverbed rushes up to meet my feet. The water level drops swiftly to my waist, becoming clear. The moment my chest reaches air my shoulder spews blood. I stumble forward. The current is stronger, faster, yet easier to fight. I stand, swaying against the rush of water, allowing a sequence of coughs to wrack through my body. Looking back again, he's almost reached me- moving at double my speed. I take a step. He makes this look easy. I scoff,  looking forward again, met with a drop off.

I immediately turn around, facing the current, facing him. I attempt to walk against the river. Knee throbbing, hand gripping my shoulder. My boot catches a patch of moss. My foot slides backwards toward the abyss. My left arm shoots out to break the fall. Scrambling for a ridge or rock, I find one. A loose one. The water drags me over the edge. 

I fall backwards off the edge, my head spinning as the fall drives me into a pool of water. My reflex betrays me as water bullies its way down my windpipe. My heart pounds through my ears. My feet and hands scrape against the rocks of the riverbed. The need to survive overriding the pain in my body- I push myself away from the waterfall. Quickly reaching the surface where the river shallows out. My body hinges in on itself gagging and vomiting water. My head throbs and my body shakes.

Simon

Swimming with the current I watch her stand. Her torso clearing the water line. Right shoulder still spewing a steady stream of crimson. She spins around, panic fracturing her features the second her eyes land on me. Before she can move her footing fails. She tumbles forward, now fully submerged. 

I pull through the deep water. The riverbed rises, the water level dropping to my mid thigh. Moving carefully over the rocks, I spot her body near the shoreline, heaving and retching up river water. Her hair falling into the water. I drop into the shallows, advancing on her position. My boots cut through the red ribbons of blood she left in the water.

When I step to her, she glares up over her shoulder. Eyes bloodshot and lips turning a deep blue. I grab the back of her vest, hauling her upright as she lets out a sharp yelp. Her arm shoots out, blade in hand. I catch her wrist in my palm.

“aye. best quit the fightin’ if you wanna live” an empty threat to me, but to her?

I squeeze the joint where her arm and hand connect, digging into her pulse point. Her fingers shake, forcing her to drop the blade. She gasps in pain. I let go of her vest grabbing both wrists with my hand, using the other to reach for a pair of flex cuffs. My fingers find empty fabric. I don't waste time cursing the river. I grab the belt buckle of her uniform, taking the belt with ease. 

“What the hell?” she rasps, voice cracking with every syllable. She yanks her wrists away, well tries to, wincing in pain when she fails. I wrap the belt tightly around her wrists with precision. 

“Sit,” I state, locking eyes with her. She hesitates but shortly after sits. I keep hold of the leftover belt. 

I reach for my comms, “Soap. You’ve got the extraction team?”

Static, then; “aye, lad. Whitewater rafting withou’ me?”

“Johnny.”

“Yes, I’ve got the extraction team. ‘Ave you got coordinates?”

I give Johnny the coordinates, he gives us a ten minute wait. “What’s that ‘bout soap? Thought you said they were ready,”

“Patience, L.T.” I leave it at that.

Checking my watch before lookin’ down at ‘Rogue,’ she looks up at me with unspoken defiance. Her jaw locks tight, and she turns her chin away from me. 

The sharp, stubborn angle of her jaw strikes a hidden nerve. The memory is gone before I can grasp it. 

Tightening my grip on the belt. I gesture towards her, “Your shoulder.”

“What about it?” her voice is still coarse. Her eyes return to me, glaring.

“You dizzy? Let me take care of that before you bleed out,” I state, my voice flat as I drop to one knee beside her. 

I don't wait for permission, tucking the leftover belt under my knee forcing her forward.  I grab the knife off my belt, she watches me with cautious eyes. I cut the sleeve of her uniform off, letting it bunch around her wrist as I holster my knife. The water slowed the flow, but a steady, dark pulse of crimson still spills down her chest and arm. I press a pack of gauze directly onto the wound. She lets out a choked groan, her left hand twitching against the rocks. I can feel her stare burning into me.  I stay entirely focused on the task at hand, wrapping her shoulder with a bandage to secure the gauze.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Rogue 

He nods in acknowledgment. Moments later the sound of a helicopter becomes clear. I watch as it flies over the edge of the wall, descending a ladder for us to climb. I laugh. His head snaps in my direction. 

“I don't know if you noticed but you stole my ability to climb,” I scowl, his eyes narrow.

“Righ’ well, I’m sure jumping off a cliff didn' t help much either” he scoffs. 

His hand reaches under my left arm pulling me to stand. He bends down grabbing my knees and throwing me over his shoulder. My face hits the back of his wet jacket, the smell of moss and tobacco filling my senses. He grabs the ladder, I watch as the earth gets further away from us. My body tenses. As he brings us up the ladder I feel his muscles tense and relax under my chest. The helicopter clears the canyon and I watch the distance from Las Almas grow. He reaches the top of the ladder, sitting me on the open ledge while he finishes the climb. An abrupt pair of hands reach under my armpits to lift me into the helicopter. 

“Aye, L.T. whose lass?” Soap, I assume, asks. Strong Scottish accent. 

“She’s the mission,” he says, sitting me down on a bench seat, he buckles me in. “Soap, you got any flex cuffs?”

“Ghost, you're the one who makes arrests,” Soap says.

“Johnny, you're supposed to have two pairs minimum,” ‘Ghost’ says.

“Weve got extra clothes, if you wan’ that,” Soap offers.

Ghost turns to me, “you cold?”

“No, I actually think I might have a heatstroke. Yes I am cold,” I glare, acknowledging the stupidity of his question.

“She’s got bite,” Soap exclaims.

“Johnny." he pauses. "And you? Don't forget your place; you're still a prisoner,” he states flatly.

“Right, thanks for the reminder,” 

Ghost stands, peeling off his jacket and shirt, quickly replacing the fabric with a dry t-shirt. He grabs the belt around my wrists and loosens it, then takes it off completely. He squats down. 

“What are you doing?” I ask as he undoes my uniform jacket.

“Said you were cold.” he says bluntly. “Can you move your arm?” he gestures to the bullet wound. I shake my head, accepting defeat. He cuts my shirt off of me, dressing me in a new one. “Pants?” he asks.