Risk and Rebel

40: LADIES FIRST

We managed to lose the tails before we boarded the train that would take us to the airport. It was a stroke of good luck, but not enough to cause any of us to let our guard done.

None of us spoke until we were on the train, tucked away in a back corner where we could see the entirety of the car. Rebel and I sat beside each other, and Outlaw and Slick claimed the seats across from us, the four of us facing each other. I could see the handle of a knife peeking out of Outlaw's pants when she raised her arms and stretched, but I kept quiet about it, knowing full well that recommending losing it now would only result in an argument.

And I couldn't come up with a good reason for the four of us to start arguing in who knows how many languages in the middle of a moving train.

So rather than go there, I leaned back and to the side, propping my head up on Rebel's shoulder and watching as the world began to tear by. When I spoke, it was in quiet Russian. "If she blows up anything on this train, I'm going to throw her off a very tall building."

Rebel snickered immediately in response, his humor causing me to relax further. I closed my eyes right as he answered. "I'll help you get her up there. Bet Slick will, too."

"Pretty sure Slick would do the throwing herself," I mused, crossing my arms over my chest and shifting to use him as a better pillow.

Rebel hummed at that. He maneuvered his arm around me, his forearm coming to a rest on my abdomen, his fingers winding into the fabric of the shirt I wore. He was starting to relax the longer we sat there, but I had a feeling his eyes were still open.

"You're not wrong," he agreed eventually.

"Of course I'm not," I retorted, eyes still closed. "Though really, Reb, if one of them stabs the other—"

"It'll be taken care of," he assured me. "Don't worry about it. If that's the worst thing that happens, I'll count this train ride as a success." I could hear the smirk in his voice, the amusement in every syllable. Seldom could we count anything a success any more — anything aside from staying alive.

That was always a win.

"You should rest," Rebel said then.

I peeked an eye open, watching the scenes blur by through the window again. "So should you."

He shrugged the shoulder I wasn't on, but I still felt the movement. "Ladies first."

I scoffed at that and shut my eyes again, a small and amused smile curving my lips. "What a gentleman," I murmured.

He pinched my side at that before his fingers relaxed again, curving against my waist and resting there. I knocked him in return with my shoulder, right before he spoke in English, "Flattery doesn't get you anywhere, remember, Risk."

Had my eyes been open, I would've rolled them. But as it was, exhaustion was beginning to set in. I could go non-stop for extensive periods of time on little to no sleep without flinching. But it seemed when I actually let myself relax, my body remembered that it wasn't a machine. Fatigue descended upon me like a bird on it's prey, and though I wanted to make a smart-aleck retort, my brain had other plans.

Sleep.

It claimed me quicker than I thought it would.

I just hadn't expected to dream this time.

Darkness and smoke greeted me and my mouth opened wide. I willed fresh air into my lungs as a gasp escaped my lips, a stab of pain shooting up my leg from my thigh. A distant part of my memory remembered that scar, remembered how it played out—

Then I started coughing, the smoke having invaded too much of my lungs. A hand rested on my shoulder, pressing cloth over my face, and where at first I struggled, I soon recognized the feeling, the distant and warbled Russian— Rebel.

I breathed in, out, breaths short and sharp, eyes stinging from the smoke.

It was only as air began filled my lungs again did I realize how close we stood to the cause of the smoke: the fiery silhouette was standing mere yards away, her hair curling in the heat, her eyes igniting like coals. Her smile was wicked, and when I saw the white-hot knife in her right hand, I lashed out.

An open palm shoved toward her, my other hand latched onto my partner's arm, and she went flying across the room, flames sputtering from the shock. The smoke began to die off almost immediately, it's source disrupted. It was only as I dropped the cloth that had been covering my mouth did I realize that Rebel had been replaced by Aim, and Aim was holding a gun millimeters away from my head—

BANG—

I shot up so fast I nearly fell out of the seat, the only thing stopping me from doing so being Rebel's arm still wrapped securely around my waist. My memory flooded back to me all at once, dark eyes roving the inside of the car as I tried to collect and organize the rush of information.

The dream sorted itself out in my mind just as Rebel asked me if I was all right, though his question went ignored for several more seconds as I tried to process everything. Parts of it began to blur at the edges and mesh together, but I still recognized it for what it was: a memory turned twisted nightmare. One of the last times Team Charlie and Team Alpha had been pitted against each other in a training simulation. Gambler had done so much damage with her fire that the simulation room was under repairs for a week, but it hadn't ended like that, it hadn't.

"Breathe," I heard Rebel say, the one word drawing me out of my thoughts and back to reality. He only said it once, calm and steady, and as I recognized he was still holding me, and I was clutching at the arm he had around me, I slowly pried my fingers off of his arm.

"What was that sound?" I asked, using my free hand to shove my hair off my face as I looked around. The train was still in motion, and I was still trying to discern if the gunshot had been in my dream, or if it had been triggered by something that had happened while I was sleeping—

"Ticket taker shut the door too hard," Rebel informed me patiently. When I didn't answer after a few moments, he spoke again, this time pulling me back against him. "We're almost at the airport."

I nodded mutely, my gaze now hard as I shifted so I could face the rest of the car with him, instead of just the window. My eyes traced over everyone in the car, the back of heads, side profiles. Outlaw was talking quietly at Slick, while Slick looked like she might have been half asleep. No one had noticed my abrupt waking. I relaxed some.

"What happened?" Rebel asked, in Russian.

"Bad dream," I said dismissively, shifting in his grasp so I could wrap one of my arms around his middle, curving into his chest as I did so. This time my eyes did not close, though. They remained wide open, and more alert. My heart rate was only just now beginning to slow.

Rebel hummed thoughtfully and didn't ask further questions. Instead, the two of us stayed quiet for what was left of our train ride.