#luckily. the upper character limit is quite low so I can keep it very shot

[carica-ficus]

Girlbossing a short story today 💅

[autisticblueteam]

Different People (Carolina/Girlie)

Chapter 3 / 4: Doubt

[AO3] [Ko-Fi in Bio]

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Canonical Character Death, Drowning, Paralysis [other tags on AO3]

Girlie survived Longshore.

The sole survivor of her team, she found herself thrown out into the world with nowhere to go and nothing to cling to except the burning resentment she held towards the Freelancers. After years of aimlessness, when presented with an opportunity for revenge she snaps it up without hesitation.

But reality is never as simple as fantasy. People aren’t always what you imagined them to be.

Chapter Word Count: 5660

Notes: I struggled with this chapter for days and then pumped out like 3k in two. 

Carolina’s visor glinted in the afternoon sun, tilted up towards her. “No. It can’t be. You—”

“Died?” Girlie cocked her hip, fist rested against it. Laughed, a dry sound. “Nah. You and that big brute gave it your best go, but it didn’t quite stick.”

God she was right there, right in front of her after all these years. Staring up at her like some fucking deer in the headlights, noticeably flinching when she said ‘big brute’. So close that a single well-aimed, well-timed bullet would finish this quicker than even Carolina could react—once that shield went down.

But she didn’t want this to be quick. She wanted this to be satisfying.

“Carolina? Who is that?” the AI on her shoulder said. Carolina’s stance was wide and strong, hands outstretched as if she were physically holding the shield up herself.

There was a moment of hesitation before Carolina spoke again, “…she was a member of Charon’s private security force. The Resistance.”

“She what?!”

“Uh, are we supposed to understand what the fuck that means or—?” the other aqua one said.

“…they were the people we fought. Back in Freelancer.”

“Okay, yeah, so, what the hell is she doing here?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you think?” Girlie tossed a knife and caught it, cocked her head. “You have a failing AI, Carolina. That bubble isn’t going to hold forever and when it gives out? You don’t have cover. It’s only a matter of time and I’m used to waiting.”

Carolina’s gaze broke from her for the first time since she arrived, head turning to the Epsilon AI. “Church… what is she talking about…?”

“How many years has it been since we last fought, Carolina? Seven, eight? That’s a lifetime for an AI, even I know that.” Carolina tensed again and oh, it felt good to see her shaken. See her realise that she was cornered. That shield would fall eventually, all Girlie had to do was wait. “Oh, and whilst you’re stuck here? A bunch of these guys are heading to handle your friends at Alpha whilst someone else goes ahead to that temple. So I’d use your last minutes wisely, Carolina.”

A beat of heavy silence. Girlie watched, to see what Carolina would do.

Finally, she said, “…Church, connect me to the war room.”

“Smart choice.”

Girlie stood tossing her knife to a steady beat as Carolina debated with the generals about who was most in need of their limited reinforcements. Wasn’t really paying attention, didn’t even catch the result before Carolina fell quiet again and the temple was overtaken by that same heavy silence from minutes before.

Four rifles remained trained on the shield. The moment it fell, the three spares would be eliminated and Girlie would have Carolina all to herself.

(Sharkface, every bone in his body broken. Snipes, their body riddled with holes. Sleeves, his neck snapped.)

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Tunnel vision threatened to creep up on her. This was it. After all this fucking time, this was it. Someone was going to pay for what happened to her team.

(Demo, blown up and drowned. The Chain Twins, crushed and all but flattened. Boss… she’d never found out what happened to Boss.)

Mere minutes were nothing compared to the years she’d waited. As the power depleted, as the shield got closer and closer to falling and leaving them exposed, she stood patiently. Never took her eyes off of Carolina, the way her arms flexed as she tried to keep them up, the way her visor glinted with each tiny glance she made at her surroundings.

When they started to talk again, discussing their options, she wasn’t worried. Hell, she barely paid attention. They didn’t have a way out. Carolina was good but even she wasn’t that good; no matter what they did, most of them wouldn’t make it out of this alive.

So she ignored it. Dismissed it.

Until, all at once, the shrill doctor yelled something about an aim-bot, the shield dropped and bullets started firing.

Three of the pirates had already fallen as she ducked behind a low wall, pressed flush against it, breathing frantic. A spattering of bullets imbedded themselves in the metal milliseconds later, but didn’t make it through. Shit, shit—

What the fuck was that?!

“One hostile remaining.”

Shit. Shit shit shit—

There was a bright flash, blinding even with her back to it. “Oh, goodie, you’re alive! That function only works about half the time—that was a bit of a coin toss.”

“Wow. Why would you tell us that?”

“Besides, it didn’t even get them all! That lady’s still up there she just ducked behind a wall!”

Girlie swallowed the lump in her throat, tried to control her breathing. Grabbing her pistol she popped the mag and checked it, made sure it was loaded. This was going to be harder than she’d hoped.

“Get clear. Go on ahead and get to the temple, help whoever Doyle sent. They can’t get hold of that sword,” Carolina said below her, as she snapped the slide back.

“What about you?”

“I can handle her, now go!”

With that simple order, Carolina isolated herself. That, at least, played into Girlie’s favour.

The sound of armoured boots and a Warthog faded into the distance soon enough and Girlie heard Carolina beneath her, her own steps against the temple’s metal floor. She must have been talking to that AI, but she heard nothing—guess it was all in her head.

Fuck. She didn’t need this kind of disadvantage. She could take her—she could take her—but this wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Fucking Freelancers and their fucking toys.

Carolina’s voice echoed from beneath her, “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but—”

The laugh that erupted surprised even her, dry and full of malice. “Oh like hell you don’t know what I’m doing here.” Shuffling towards the edge of the wall, she peered around. Carolina hadn’t moved far and her rifle remained mag-locked to her back. “You’re a smart woman, Carolina. Take a fucking guess.”

“I—” She hesitated, so uncharacteristically unsure of herself. Now that she thought about it, she’d been acting off ever since she came out of that portal thing in the centre. Yet that Grey woman must have gone inside but came out no worse for wear.

Not that it mattered. Her being out of it might even level the playing field.

"How about I just explain then, huh? Give you the whole goddamn speech.” Popping up over the top of the wall she squeezed the trigger, fired two hasty shots that Carolina dodged easily. Her head snapped up towards her. “You killed my fucking team, Carolina. Is that what you want to hear? I’m here because you and your team killed my entire fucking team. I’m here because I’m the only one fucking left.”

Her eyes flicked to the ground. Bit of a drop, didn’t know if her legs could take it, but she wasn’t going to take the damn stairs.

Fuck it.

Landing in a roll minimised the impact but fuck the shooting pain up her spine took her breath and it took a moment for her legs to recover, for sensation and control to settle. Something hadn’t been right since the purge, like the connection had been damaged, but she had to fight. So she pulled herself up to her feet and squared her stance, ignoring the odd tingle that ran down her legs. Grabbed her knives.

“I’m here,” she was right there, right there in front of her, within touching distance, after all these fucking years she was right there— “because someone has to fucking pay, Carolina. First you, and then Agent Washington.”

“…you have got to be fucking kidding me.”

With a low growl, Girlie lunged.

Carolina threw herself back, away from the wide sweep of her knife. Spun on her heel and came back at her with a high kick, narrowly missing her head as she ducked. Another, then another—the third connected with her chest, pushed her back.

Catching herself, Girlie grit her teeth.

Aim for the vulnerable areas. Get a knife in that open gut and even Carolina would go down.

Tucking her arms close to her chest she got in close with another spin and lashed out with another swipe that barely missed her midsection. Carolina dodged and feinted and somehow ended up behind her, but Girlie was quick to turn. Block a punch, take a kick, duck out the way of another.

Carolina’s style wasn’t predictable but it had repeating elements that she knew well, that she’d visualised how to counter. Triple kicks were dodged, her fluid feints and spins defied. Didn’t give her the upper-hand but it gave her enough to keep up, to start pushing.

Carolina didn’t let up either. Every move she made was targeted, no doubt helped along by that AI of hers, and it wasn’t long before a well-placed slam of a foot made Girlie’s legs buckle.

Stumbling, she cursed.

“Epsilon, BioScan.”

“Cybernetic implant in her spine connected to her legs. Seems to be the only thing letting her walk, let alone fight. Fancy shit, too. Not cheap.”

“Luckily for me,” dragging herself upright, she let the connection settle, “Charon was very dedicated to making their story believable. Fixed me up before getting me locked up. But hey,” she shrugged, tossed her knife and squared her stance, “they got me to you in the end.”

Another volley of strikes. Girlie kept her sights set on the vulnerable areas of her armour, waited for openings, but Carolina kept up her guard. Every slash at the exposed areas of her armour was blocked, turned back against her. She kept up the pressure and Girlie found herself pushed back, losing ground.

“They waited all this time to send you?” Carolina said, blocking a slash of her knife.

“What?” Gritting her teeth, she pushed against the block. Knife scraping through the paint on her gauntlets. “No. I waited, Charon never did shit for me. This is for me, not for them!”

“Then why are you working for them?”

Girlie froze. What? This was— was all of this— Charon was—?

Carolina didn’t waste the opening. A kick slammed into her gut and she flew backwards, stumbled. The bright white of the portal cast light ahead of her, over Carolina. She hadn’t realised they were so close, that they’d backed up that far.

Her legs bucked, her footing slipped—

And she was falling.

Falling, wind rushing past her, a sensation all too familiar. Falling, waiting for the hard impact of concrete or water against her back. Falling, with her eyes clamped shut and her breath held on instinct.

But the impact never came.

One second she was falling and the next second she was stood firm on her feet in the middle of some open area. Everything around her had some weird… unreal, quality to it; blurred, almost, smeared. Something wasn’t right about this— this— wherever this portal had taken her.

Now how the fuck did she get out of here?

“WHO… ARE… YOU?”

Girlie grunted. “Fuck off, I’m not here for— whatever the hell this is,” she said, spinning on the spot as she looked for a way out. There was a way in, there had to be a way out. “Let me out of here! Goddammit she— fucking— shit.”

That was when she heard the beeping.

Of a heart monitor. Flat-lining.

It sounded exactly the same.

Exactly the same, like it was torn directly from her memory of that horrible fucking day. Even her nightmares had never recreated the sound quite so vividly, so precisely. Hearing it then dragged her right back to that day, to the hospital. Made her want to cover her ears, to make the sound stop.

Spinning again she searched for the source of the sound (that fucking sound, the sound of one of her family dying—) despite internally kicking herself, despite the nausea that twisted her gut. For a moment she thought there was nothing, that it had come out of the air like that voice—

There was a hospital bed mere metres away from her when she stopped spinning.

Sharkface was laid there, the steady beat of his heart replaced by that long, piercing beep that burrowed its way deep into her skull. No one else, no doctors, no nothing. Just him and her.

He almost looked peaceful, without the frantic buzzing of doctors around him.

She remembered Boss yelling at the Doctors to do more. She remembered the days after, where they all talked in hushed, angry tones about how Charon hadn’t done enough. She remembered being angry at the Freelancers, the real root of her resentment.

But there was no one here but him and her.

Stepping towards the bed didn’t close the distance. It remained perpetually out of her reach. Nothing she did could get her closer, would let her help him. She didn’t even know why she was trying—he was already dead this wasn’t real—but she couldn’t just stand by and watch, not again.

So she ran harder, tried to break whatever illusion kept her back and finally, it almost seemed as if she was getting closer—

Behind her, there was the sound of a domed energy shield.

Turning on her heel, she knew what she’d find before she saw it.

Hexagonal tiles splattered with blood, a final glimpse of a red and black figure trying to duck out of the way of a ricocheting bullet. Deep, dark red staining the entire dome—so much blood for the one figure inside—before it fell. The distant thud of them hitting the ground. Falling to their knees, then flat on their face.

So, so far out of her reach. Up where they always were.

And unlike that day, there was no obvious source of the bullet, or the dome. No one to retaliate against.

It was the same when Sleeves hit the floor with a sickening crack, less than a metre away from her.

There was no one there. Just Sleeves on his knees, his head jerked unnaturally to the side, his helmet skidding away. Not Agent Maine, who she’d seen kill him all those years ago. Just Sleeves. Dead.

Demo— Demo was the worst. The room was dry, not a drop of water in sight, but he appeared above her as if he was floating. Sinking. Followed the sound of explosions and his scream, a splash. She couldn’t even tear her eyes away as he slowly sunk towards the floor, bleeding out. Red streaking the air, trailing behind him and dissipating in a non-existent current.

She’d never seen that. Not like she had the others.

Tears threatened to fall and she swallowed a thick lump in her throat. Fuck. Fuck. Why was it doing this, why was it making her see— see—

There wasn’t much to see of the twins. The crates came from nowhere and their bodies were hidden. But the sound, god the fucking sound— it took all her strength not to throw up.

Gritting her teeth, Girlie tore her eyes away from the corpses of her friends and glared at the sky. “Stop it! Fucking— stop it! Why the fuck are you showing me all of this?! Fuck off! Let me out of here!”

Girlie all but screamed her throat raw, but there was still no response. If anything the silence seemed to grow heavier in the aftermath, as she stood surrounded by dead bodies with her throat aching.

Alone, again. Like so many times before.

And like so many times before, the silence gave her time to think.

Despite the horrifying things this place had shown her—her friends dying around her all over again, their bodies strewn around her discarded—she felt… a level of fear beneath it all, an undercurrent of constant, consuming fear that wasn’t aimed at the horrors. Her nightmares had been filled with the bodies of her friends for years, that wasn’t anything new.

But in her nightmares there was always someone to blame.

The answer had always been obvious. The Freelancers had murdered her family and left her for dead. That was what had gotten her by for years.

A clear target for her anger. A clear target to blame.

There was no one here to blame and that? That was what scared her. Not the bodies, not the gore, not the scenes she’d relived a thousand times. No.

Gnawing away in the back of her mind was a single seed of doubt, planted when Carolina claimed that all of this shit she was doing now was under Charon’s orders. Under the orders of the same people that had put her in this situation in the first place. The people who’d let her take the fall for their shit and let her rot in prison. The people who’d sent her teams to their deaths and—

“Fuck!” Her helmet hit the floor with a sharp bang and she dragged her hands through her hair.

Who the fuck was to blame? The Freelancers had killed them but Charon had sent them to do their dirty work but the Freelancers had— but Agent Carolina, Agent Maine, Agent Washington— but Charon, the Chairman—

Girlie fell to her knees and sobbed.

The next thing she knew she was outside the portal, the muggy air of the jungle against her face and the bright sunlight making her eyes sting. Messages pinged off inside her helmet where it lay at her feet, no doubt Felix or somebody asking where the fuck she was.

Without even glancing at them, she slumped back against the nearest surface and curled up into a ball.

Both her body and her conviction shaking.

“What the hell happened out there, Girlie?! You had one job! One easy little job, we gave you backup and everything, but here you are, whilst Agent Carolina runs around very much alive. Not even injured!”

Girlie gritted her teeth. Felix paced around in front of her, gesticulating wildly. He’d barely finished with his display of repeatedly slamming that damn sword hilt against every surface he could find trying to get it to work. Even after she’d made it very clear that the damn Sangheili AI had said the swords wouldn’t work for anyone but their initial claimant.

He was absolutely insufferable and she wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk away. But doing that wouldn’t end well for her, so she stood still and glared at him behind her visor.

“You didn’t tell me that they had a gun run by a damn AI. It auto-targeted all of my backup and almost shot me. After that I did what I could but like I said, she got the upper-hand and threw me into the portal you both conveniently forgot to mention,” she said, hardly suppressing the disdain in her voice. Felix huffed, finally stopped his pacing to lean against a crate.

“Did you encounter anything within the portal?” Locus asked, monotone as— no, actually, their voice seemed to waver. Barely enough to be noticeable, but definitely there.

“No.” Like hell she was telling them what happened in there. “Threw me out what felt like a couple seconds later but it must have been longer, because Carolina was gone and my helmet was going mad with comm. notifications about me fucking up.”

“Right, yeah, okay, how about this: why the hell didn’t you mention this ever so tiny detail about the sword the first time you contacted us about the temple, hm? How about that?” Felix said, gesticulating wildly.

God she could punch him right in his snarky little— “I didn’t exactly have time. The whole idea was that you got to it first. You not being fast enough? That’s not on me.”

“Why you little—”

Felix jerked forward. Girlie’s hands twitched towards her knives and—

Locus’ arm blocked Felix before he moved more than a step.

“No violence between partners.”

Felix glowered at them with a simple tilt of his helmet. “She’s not a partner, she’s an idiot. And thanks to her, we’ve got a key that does nothing until the General is dead!”

“Then just go and kill the General,” Girlie said, shrugging. Really, didn’t they have to do that anyway?

“The grown-ups are talking, blondie.”

Ohhh she fucking hated him.

“Quiet! We have the advantage and we have a plan. So quit moaning, and do your job.” Their gaze shifted from Felix to Girlie. “Both of you.”

With as much sarcasm as she could muster, Girlie said, “You’re the boss,” before turning on her heel and walking away. One more minute in that room and she’d be throwing a knife at Felix’s head and no matter how good her aim was, that wouldn’t end in her favour.

Dragging herself back to her cell, which she now had all to herself, she felt that seed of doubt in the back of her mind begging for her attention. It wormed its way into her thoughts as she stripped off her armour and started to do her exercises—something that had always chased away unwanted thoughts before. She needed to test the connection, anyway.

For a little while it worked. Focused on how her legs were working—whether there was a delay between what she wanted to do and it happening or a lack of proper sensation—she was able to keep all of her attention on her work out. There was definitely something off, but it wasn’t enough to stop her walking or fighting. All she could do was try to adapt in the time she had to waste, she’d get the damage fixed after this was all over.

If she made it out of this.

She ran through her drills two more times than necessary just to keep herself distracted but eventually the thoughts started to creep their way in. Realising there was no point fighting the inevitable, she pulled herself up onto her bed, laid down face-first and made a frustrated noise into her pillow.

This was the last thing she needed.

This was meant to be her chance to get revenge. Kill Carolina, kill Washington—end them, eradicate the last of the Freelancers and make sure they knew who’d killed them and why. They’d killed her family. Her anger towards the Freelancers was the only thing that had kept her going for years.

But Carolina just had to plant that seed of doubt, didn’t she?

She didn’t know why she’d never asked who she was working for. Maybe a part of her, somewhere subconscious, had spotted all the signs of Charon’s work—the fancy weaponry, the alien shit, the big money. Maybe that part of her knew she’d be conflicted, if she knew for sure.

All those years ago she’d latched onto the Freelancers because Charon was out of reach. They were funding her recovery, they were in charge of her future, they were going to let her go after the Freelancers.

And fuck, it wasn’t as if the Freelancers were innocent. No, no, they were part of this. Her anger at them hadn’t been wrong, it couldn’t have been; she saw them kill her family, she saw what happened to Sharkface, she saw it all.

But did that mean they were to blame for what had happened?

Or was this all bigger than that? Bigger than her, or them?

Fuck. Fuck. Carolina just had to say something, didn’t she? One sentence and she’d planted the thought that started her world crumbling down around her for the second time. One sentence and she felt like she was back on page one.

Years of her life had been based around that anger.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to do if that started to change.

By the time they called her again, she’d had almost twenty-four hours for her mind to run in circles. It was a relief when they told her that they were preparing for a big push into the city, that she’d have another shot at the Freelancers soon.

Maybe with a mission to focus on, she’d be able to chase away the doubt. Maybe when she saw one of the Freelancers again, she’d be filled with the rage she needed to end this.

Maybe.

She hoped so.

It would be so much easier if she was.

Her mission was the same: take out the Freelancers, plural this time. Keep them occupied so they couldn’t get between the pirates and the General, if nothing else—a qualifier so helpfully added by Felix. There would be no backup this time but she wouldn’t have taken it if she’d been offered it. She was doing this alone or not at all.

The nagging voice in the back of her mind—that sounded suspiciously like Boss—told her it would be the latter. So she told it to shut the fuck up.

The occupants of Chorus had made one grave mistake, she thought as she landed on the asphalt. Containing everything in one area of the city made sense in theory but in practice, it made it much too easy to eliminate huge numbers of people in a short amount of time. She remembered learning that the hard way back in the early days of her cell; it was easy to lose a lot of people that way.

Shaking the thought from her head, she started her hunt for the Freelancers. Now wasn’t the time to feel sympathetic to the locals.

It didn’t take long to find them.

“…wind all over the place.”

“Well, at least they keep us off the streets and out of trouble.”

Girlie would have laughed when they came around the corner, only to be face to face with her. Would have, if she’d felt like she was supposed to feel.

Agent Carolina and Agent Washington stood in front of her, the last remaining Freelancers that she had been so, so determined to kill a mere day before. Only now the rage that filled her chest was— different, weaker.

Unsure.

It felt almost performative to force a laugh and rest a hand on her hip. “Out of trouble, huh? You do know these tunnels aren’t sealed, right?”

Washington and a woman she didn’t recognise raised their weapons, but Carolina held out an arm.

Her gut twisted.

“We don’t have time for this,” Washington said, helmet tilting just barely towards Carolina. A side-glance. “Carolina…”

“I’m the one she wants,” Carolina said, though something in the words felt deeper. Like she had some other motivation. Girlie didn’t have time to analyse that, before she set her sights on her. “If I stay, will you let them go?”

One of them would be easier to fight than two.

“Fine, whatever.” She had no commitment to whatever the fuck was going on here anyway. So what if Washington and the other woman screwed up the mercenaries’—Charon’s—plans? “But once I’m done with you? Don’t think I won’t be going after Washington, too.”

Carolina didn’t acknowledge the threat. “Kimball, Wash— go.”

“You sure you’ll be alright?” Kimball asked, taking a step forward. Carolina didn’t look back.

“Yeah. I’m sure. Now go.”

With that, they took off down one of the other paths and left them alone.

Silence filled the tunnel. Carolina and Girlie stood still, staring each other down.

It was like Carolina was hesitating. The way she’d stopped Washington and Kimball from ending her then and there, the way she stood just… looking at her. It was hesitation.

Why would she hesitate?

She was here to kill her why— why would she—

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her knives. That was it, that was enough. She was finishing this, now. Damn her for making her doubt and damn her for hesitating and just damn her!

“Fuck you,” she spat, as she lunged.

Carolina blocked her, gauntlets crossed and shielding her from the clumsy first slash of her knife. Throwing her back with a sharp push she created distance, wound up a spinning kick and aimed right at her head. Ducked, spun and lashed out with a blade at her legs—but Carolina saw it coming and jumped, nailing her in the visor with her foot.

Pain shot up her back as she landed hard, but she rolled over and jumped to her feet. Tossing her knife to adjust her hold she went back for another swipe, but Carolina was quick and she was clumsy in her frustration. Her legs were lagging behind. Her mind was swimming with conflicting thoughts.

Only one thing came through clear: she wanted this to be over, one way or another this hand to end.

Strike after strike, Carolina blocked her. Every hit in return was retaliation, never an initiation. Girlie was kept at bay with bare minimum force and fuck that made it worse, made her fight harder, made her make more mistakes until—

A disarming strike. Her knife clattered to the floor. A foot in her gut threw her back and away.

Barely catching herself, landing on her knees, she shuddered as a spark ran down her legs. An attempt to put pressure on one nearly sent her sprawling to the ground. Shit. Shit shit shit— there was sensation, but she couldn’t get up, she couldn’t get up. She was defenceless, disarmed and vulnerable—

And yet Carolina just stood there. Looking at her.

“Why— why won’t you just fight me? Why won’t you just fight back?!” she snapped, jerking her arm out. It unbalanced her and she caught herself, palm against the asphalt. “I’m trying to kill you, fight back for fuck’s sa—”

“I’m sorry.”

The words hit like a punch in the gut.

“…what?”

“I’m sorry. For what we did to you… to your friends.” Carolina’s voice was calm and even as she stood there, mere feet away but with her stance relaxed and unthreatening. “You were on one side of the fight and we were on the other. We thought we were the good guys. I’m sorry.”

“…wha-what?” Girlie choked on the word. Her throat felt tight. No, not again. Not again. She couldn’t do this. This wasn’t how— “You— shut up. Shut up. You can’t do this again, I won’t— sorry doesn’t bring them back.”

“I know,” Carolina said, with the weight of a realisation all of her own. Her visor was tilted away from her, never meeting hers. “But I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to kill you. Enough people have died for Charon and for Freelancer. I won’t add to that if I don’t have to.”

“But— but—”

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Carolina was meant to fight back, she was meant to— she was meant to— what was she meant to do? Who was she meant to be? A monster? One of the shameless murderers that she’d spent years building the Freelancers up to be?

Years of aiming all of her anger at the Freelancers, at Carolina. Years of blaming them and them alone for what had happened to her family. Years— and yet in the space of a couple of days, it had all come toppling down around her.

“…who the hell am— am I supposed to blame if not you?” Her voice strained and she choked back a sob, crumpling in on herself as her shoulders started to shake. “Who— I don’t know— I don’t know.”

All of the fight faded away and her frustration turned inwards. Hot tears rolled over her cheeks.

Carolina crouched in front of her, offered a hand. “Stand down. Come with me. You don’t need to trust me, but let me help you.”

Girlie swallowed the lump in her throat. She didn’t want to die. She’d never wanted to die.

Her team wouldn’t want her to die.

She took the hand.

Carolina pulled her arm up around her shoulders and wrapped an arm around her waist, lifted her to her feet. Even with the support it was difficult to stay steady, but Carolina kept her up.

“Epsilon—”

“I got you covered C. There’s a Warthog not far, I’m marking it on your HUD.”

“Alright.” Securing her hold on Girlie’s waist, she turned towards one of the other tunnels. “Think you can walk a hundred metres with me?”

“I’ll manage,” Girlie said, gripping her shoulder tight. Didn’t look at her. Couldn’t look at her.

Carolina took a step and she matched it. It was slower going than she’d have liked, but they started to move. Girlie kept her eyes on the floor, watched her own feet as they scuffed against the asphalt, tripping and stumbling. Every few steps she almost fell flat on her face and Carolina had to drag her back upright.

She couldn’t believe she was letting herself be seen like this by her.

Finally they reached the Warthog and Carolina grabbed her under her legs, lifted her into the seat. Girlie almost protested, but she knew that she’d never have managed it on her own, not in her state.

“Wash, we’re on our way to you.”

“We’re on our way?”

“That’s what I said.” Clambering into the driver’s seat, she started it up. “The uh—” a moment’s hesitation, a glance at Girlie, “…what do I call you?”

“…Girlie. You call me Girlie.”

She nodded. “Girlie is coming too.”

“…well alright then. I was just about to contact you, Doyle’s riding to the reactor and we need to be at the LZ quick.”

“Doyle?”

The engine revved and the Warthog reversed, turning to drive down another tunnel. Girlie pulled off her helmet and dropped her head back over the seat, the radio conversation nothing more than a faint murmur in the background.

Nothing ever went like she expected, did it?