Holiday Wine, with You and Me [Chaennie ]

Part 12 : Right Within Your Heart

It's something, Jennie thinks, taking on what feels like the entirety of National City's late-night, mild-to-highly intoxicated population with a fondness for violent gunplay, as well as her own near-insurmountable desire to drop out of the game and onto her knees before the world's goofiest Greek goddess.

It's something, she thinks, and that something is agony.

To the deep detriment of Jennie's sanity, Jess has their team spread out over the dimly lit basement for the final round. Jennie is granted only the occasional glimpse of Rosie, brief flashes of glory and golden grace. Jennie watches her — when she isn't scrambling for cover or firing her phaser — much in the way she imagines the Aechaeans had once watched Achilles on the battlefields of Troy.

They've cruelly been denied an opportunity to talk, or, more optimistically, to find themselves a dark corner where Jennie can drag Rosie's hand up her dress and press her fingers between her legs. Their communication is limited entirely to their team's open channel, where every single one of their friends would be privy to each incriminating word exchanged between them.

"Yo Princess," Jess' voice crackles through the device strapped to Jennie's shoulder, "What's taking so long? Did you fall asleep back there?"

Jennie rolls her eyes before venturing briefly out of cover. She's meant to be tagging flags for the blue squad while the others focus on taking out the four opposing teams, but so far it's proven to be a somewhat Sysiphian task. "I'm up against your buddy Jesus," she gripes. "He's taking them back the moment the one-minute lockout expires." She growls when she spots him, peeking out over a half wall just a couple of feet away — then yelps and takes a frantic dive when she realizes his next shot is aimed directly at her.

"I'm disappointed in you, Bruiser," Lisa's voice cuts in. "I thought you were going to bring him around to our side."

"Hell no," Jess sneers, her breath coming out in short huffs. "Guy's a total narcissist. Completely abandoned me in the arena last round and then, just before we went in for this one, had the nerve to claim he'd been carrying me." There's a short pause, filled by the faint but unmistakable sounds of an enemy player being eliminated. "Fuck him."

Jennie pokes out of cover again, careful to keep her vest shielded this time as she neatly lines up her shot. She smiles, pleased with herself, when the flag lights up blue on her very first try.

And then she realizes the lamb of god is nowhere to be seen, and two more previously blue flags have turned red.

"Son of a bitch," she seethes. "Why am I doing this, again? For a tacky plastic trophy boasting our embarrassing team name and a free bucket of buffalo wings?" She plots out a course for better shelter and bolts, tagging another flag along the way. "I can buy every one of you a hundred of those things," she pants, "without risking my mental health and professional reputation."

"It's a bottomless bucket of wings," Rosie answers her, her voice tinted with a sort of ardent devotion one would usually reserve for an unexplained, perhaps magical phenomenon. "I'll come and give you a hand," she offers. "Just stay where you are."

Yes, please. Jennie is already tugging at her dress and smoothing back her hair, ready to fall into her hero's arms once more. But Jess throws a swift wrench in her plans. "Negative, Supergirl," she decides sternly. "We need you in your sector. Commander, do you read?"

Jennie's shoulders sag a little, though she knows it's probably for the best — she's at least 75% sure Sara mentioned a rule against physical contact in the arena.

"Loud and clear," Jisoo answers. "Princess, what's your twenty?"

Jennie blinks. "Come again?"

Jisoo heaves out an impatient sigh. "Where are you?"