[ A firm grip curves under his shoulder, and he automatically clambers to return the gesture, bloody fingers finding Cain’s arm. Heart hammering, stomach turning, wheezing. His mental co-pilot goes silent, quiet when needed most.
Fortunately, Cain’s message cuts through the haze (smells like iron, tastes like metal under his mask, feels wet wet wet down his front), and Fitz shifts into a wobbly crouch, still using his partner as an anchor — but it’s Peggy Carter who galvanises him, every nerve and synapse alight at her messages, electricity running rivulets down his spine. Reaction time’s still delayed, reboot in progress. No, no, no, no, no. They already took their shot with Cain’s drop from above. It won’t work twice, not with the soldiers’ hardware. They adapt too quickly, condensing half an hour of analysis or more on Agent Carter’s fighting style. And they already know how the two halves of this team react when their counterparts are threatened, ever keen to draw bullets like supermagnets. Time is fixed, he tells himself. Think your way out. Carter's invincible. That's basic quantum physics.
Unless time is nothing. The shot rings out, and Markus’ message prompts another wave of nausea.
Automatic response kicks back in, his brain cycling through scenarios in double-time. Fitz saves the timestamp in the corner of the interface, marking the minute that the bullet stopped her heart. With Markus pulling focus (an impressive display, given his intended purpose), he finally releases Cain and rises to visualise a path, not to the exit — but beneath her. Even the nearby soldier misses the opportunity to follow, expecting offensive action in accordance with the prior data. ]
Cain on Carter.
[ As in: Cain, pick up the limp body haphazardly crashing beside us (sorry, boss). Fitz’s turn to clap a hand on Cain's back, pushing him forward, so the both of them can hurl through another portal to Markus, barely catching their balance upon landing at the exit behind him, boots still blood-slick. Fitz braces an arm across his chest, stifling the hurt from his injury as he stumbles.
Lest they forget her, Patil makes a startled noise at the slasher side of the room’s sudden appearance beside her. ]
Stairwell. I’ll open a portal over the side, and we jump, or we’re fish in a barrel.
[ Providing he can see over the railing, he can transport them to the ground. ]
no subject
Fortunately, Cain’s message cuts through the haze (smells like iron, tastes like metal under his mask, feels wet wet wet down his front), and Fitz shifts into a wobbly crouch, still using his partner as an anchor — but it’s Peggy Carter who galvanises him, every nerve and synapse alight at her messages, electricity running rivulets down his spine. Reaction time’s still delayed, reboot in progress. No, no, no, no, no. They already took their shot with Cain’s drop from above. It won’t work twice, not with the soldiers’ hardware. They adapt too quickly, condensing half an hour of analysis or more on Agent Carter’s fighting style. And they already know how the two halves of this team react when their counterparts are threatened, ever keen to draw bullets like supermagnets. Time is fixed, he tells himself. Think your way out. Carter's invincible. That's basic quantum physics.
Unless time is nothing. The shot rings out, and Markus’ message prompts another wave of nausea.
Automatic response kicks back in, his brain cycling through scenarios in double-time. Fitz saves the timestamp in the corner of the interface, marking the minute that the bullet stopped her heart. With Markus pulling focus (an impressive display, given his intended purpose), he finally releases Cain and rises to visualise a path, not to the exit — but beneath her. Even the nearby soldier misses the opportunity to follow, expecting offensive action in accordance with the prior data. ]
Cain on Carter.
[ As in: Cain, pick up the limp body haphazardly crashing beside us (sorry, boss). Fitz’s turn to clap a hand on Cain's back, pushing him forward, so the both of them can hurl through another portal to Markus, barely catching their balance upon landing at the exit behind him, boots still blood-slick. Fitz braces an arm across his chest, stifling the hurt from his injury as he stumbles.
Lest they forget her, Patil makes a startled noise at the slasher side of the room’s sudden appearance beside her. ]
Stairwell. I’ll open a portal over the side, and we jump, or we’re fish in a barrel.
[ Providing he can see over the railing, he can transport them to the ground. ]