Galilee Rising(37)

Static.

They can't be dead. This was nothing to them. They've taken down giant robots and stopped a fucking nuclear bomb. A few men with guns and a villain is a cakewalk. He just…I'm sure he's been shot a dozen times before and walked away without a scratch. Tonight will be no different. It has to be because I can't have just watched another person I care about die in front of my eyes. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much. "Team, come in!" I don't do helpless well. I couldn't do anything then, and I can't now. There has to be something I can do if I just think. Think! "Come in, please. Please, come on," I whisper to myself. I'm losing it. I can't do this again. He--

"Guardian, do you copy?" Tempest asks over the radio.

If I wasn't sitting I guarantee my ass would be splayed on the floor by now. Thank God. Thank you, God. I let out a ragged whimper and wipe the tears from my eyes before saying, "I'm here."

"Status report. We've apprehended Boneshaker and are en route to the nearest police precinct. He's unconscious."

"Are you okay?"

"Well, we need showers after chasing him through a tunnel into the sewer but otherwise perfect. Status on Nightingale?"

Shit. Motherfucking, goddamn, shitting shit. "Um, unknown. He-He was shot in the chest before the feed cut out," I say, voice quaking.

"Nothing on comms?" Tempest asks.

"No."

"I'm sure he's fine," Tempest says, calm as can be. "Lib, go back and check on him."

"Roger," she says.

"I'm at the precinct now. Good job tonight. Couldn't have done it without you. Tempest, over and out."

Now instead of static, there's nothing but silence. Bastard cut the connection. I fall back into the chair, mouth open in shock. That's it? That's all I get? I watched them…I thought they…they…I rip off the headset and stare at the security feed from down the street. He hasn't come out yet. What if he's buried under a literal ton of rubble, and they don't know he's there or can't get to him in time? I watch as EMTs check on the battered henchmen under the attentive eye of the police. I watch as a small crowd gathers outside while more police and ambulances arrive. I don't see Liberty arrive. I don't see Nightingale walk out on his own. I pull my legs to my chest and hug them. Come on…

Some time passes as I just stare. Numb. Detectives, then press show up outside the club. The less hurt henchmen are carted away in squad cars and others leave in ambulances. Detectives mill around, attempting to piece together what happened. Eventually they disappear into the hallway. If he was injured, they would have wheeled him out by now. If he were dead, they'd leave him for CSI to work on. When CSI arrives I hug my legs tighter, resting my head on my knees. Come on, you bastard. Come on. Don't you do this to me. This is…I can't…I just sat here and watched as he--

"Are you alright?"

My head jerks up. A muck covered Liberty and dusty Nightingale stand at the entrance staring at me. "Yeah, you feel sick or something?" Liberty asks.

Fresh tears I've been holding back spring out. He's alive. He came back. Oh, thank you God. Thank you. "I--" is all I can get out. I can't let them see me cry. I wipe my eyes and start playing with the computer. "I'm fine. Tired," I say, voice shaking.

"We were pretty awesome tonight, huh?" Liberty says. "Could have done without the trip to sewerville though. Can't wait to see the playback."

"Right," I say.

"Oh, you don't have to pull it up tonight. We'll review it later. Just wanted to check on you. You sounded freaked over the comms."

"I'm fine," I say, still not looking at them. Go away tears. Fuck off.

There's silence for some seconds, and out of the corner of my eye I spy Liberty mouthing something to Nightingale while nudging him with her elbow. He scowls and shakes his head. "Anyway," Liberty says cheerfully, "I am in dire need of ten showers. I'll leave you two to wrap things up if you don't mind. Thanks for all your help tonight. Ciao!" she calls, flying away.

I half expect Nightingale to follow suit, but he doesn't move from the passage. He glances at the exit, at me, at the exit again, not sure what to do next. When he decides, he clears his throat and moves toward me. "We, um, just need to add a few notes to the Boneshaker file." He brushes past me to pick up the overturned chair. "Write an incident report and whatnot." He sits in the chair far enough away from me to realize he's uncomfortable. "If-If you're too tired I can--"

"I'm fine," I snap. "Just tell me what to do."

He's quiet for a few seconds, then says, "Are you still angry at me for--"