#poetryparttime

She shouldn’t have agreed to split up.

Oh, oh she knew they had to; it was the only thing that made sense. There was just too much space between goals and not enough time for them to hit them both one after the other. Galactic would catch onto the fact that they’d snuck in sooner or later, and if they failed to stop them here, it’d just be that much easier for them to control Dialga and Palkia when the time came.

But fuck Galactic. In an out-and-out battle they’d fall easily, and she knew that, and it was better to fucking fail and survive than…She grit her teeth and picked up the pace.

But now the back of her mind was screaming that something had gone horribly, terribly wrong, the same way it did when she got vague, vague precog flashes that she never truly remembered until it already happened.

And now that she was done with her task she’d realized Looker had given her the safer task, with less security and grunts guarding it. He’d taken the gauntlet, where there was sure to be a small hive of grunts running around and possibly an admin or two. Yes, out of the two of them he was better at stealth, she was never going to debate that, but hell she’d gotten better—a lot better—and she could hide herself pretty damn well if she needed to.

She heard commotion and the start of feet behind her. Didn’t matter. She was fast, and good luck catching her. They knew they’d never be able to get out the way they came in, and had a plan for that.

Or, well, a rough one. She was all for making a big hole in an outer wall and absconding that way.

She turned her second to last corner and the dread building in her stomach turned to lead. The super-secure door Looker had been worried about for a week was wide-fucking-open.

Everything about this screamed trap, but what option did she have? She charged through it, grabbing the edge on her way and swung it shut behind her. Good luck getting through it any time soon grunts!

This door was commander-level-locked only!

…Oh, bloody buggering fuck.

There he was! She caught sight of the back of his signature trench coat through the thin, rectangular peep-hole window in the secondary door just ahead. She grinned.

She slammed into the door.

There was a loud, ear-splitting pop-bang. Looker’s upper body jerked violently, pushed back, as she crashed into the large room. He fell to his knees.

Fuck fuck fuck! “NO!” She screamed, eyes alighting on the quickly growing red spot on his chest, seeping through his clothes. No. This is what she’d come back in time to prevent, to ensure it never, ever happened. It couldn’t. She felt that familiar lock-up in her throat.

There was a laugh, and the cocking of a gun for another shot. The click-snap of the reload dragged her from shock to target and she turned, eyes taking in the grey and white body suit and purple hair, done up in a tail and a bun. The gun was in her hand and aimed.

Brienne snarled.

“Goodbye.” Jupiter said, and pulled the trigger.

What little control of aura she had was thrown into use, snapping up a full-length shield that, like Mirror-Coat, bounced the bullet back the way it came.

Straight into Jupiter’s chest. She dropped like a stone.

A choke and a thump brought her attention back to Looker, who’d fallen onto his side.

“Oh no, no no no…” She fell to knees at his side, hands hovering just over him, completely at a loss.

There had to be something she could do. She couldn’t…he couldn’t…

He met her eyes, and she broke.

“Oh gods, Hawkshaw, no, nooo…” She pulled him onto her lap, one hand cradling his head and the other reaching for his hand. “I’ve got you, it’s alright, I’ve got you…”

His eyes were locked onto her face, his grip on her hand tight. He opened his mouth to say something, blanched, and convulsed, coughing up more blood.

“Shhh…shh…” She tried to smile, hand gently combing through his hair as she flicked her eyes over the bullet hole. God, his shirt was already soaked… “We’ll get you out of here and get some help, don’t worry, you’ll be f-fine…” She stuttered on the last word, her voice pitching into a squeak. It was a complete lie and she knew it.  

Her vision blurred from tears.

Looker coughed again, weakly, and she held him tighter as he squeezed her hand once more. “Y-you’re fine. The great, hard-boiled d-detective Looker. Nothing can keep you down.” Her lungs burned as she took in a great rasp of air. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It couldn’t. It shouldn’t be ending like this.

No no no…!

A soft sigh and all the pressure in Looker’s grip vanished. His eyes never left her face.

“Hawkshaw?” She whimpered. Nothing. Her voice turned even smaller. “Looker?” She wouldn’t let go of his hand.

It only took a moment of complete stillness before she bowed over him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Moss Agate:  if my muse has a high or low opinion of themselfAnswered here: http://ask-the-eyes-of-the-beholder.tumblr.com/post/123070011535/moss-agate-aegerine-chalcopyrite-hematite

Amethyst: what my muse would most like to be able to shape-shift intoAnswered in the above link