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femmeetart · 15 hours ago

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29 w/ Andy old guard 👉👈

All We Have is Time

Andy x GN!Reader

prompt: “I’m here if you need to talk.”

Summary: After a mission in Venice, you come to realize that Death is much closer than you’ve anticipated.

Word count: 6.7K+

TW: Descriptions of death, wounds, fighting.

A/N: this one is a little long than what I usually write—and happens to be one of my favorites. Thank you anon for the request!! :)

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Sweat boils off your sweltering skin, and a parched sigh leaves your lips as a hand trails through your now oily hair. With a delicate touch, the paint chips off a second-story window sill as you peeked between its tinted blinds. Moisture from your palms acted as an adhesive for the pulverized residue. You couldn’t understand how someone could live in a place like Venice. Sure, the Greek arches were constructed beautifully, the shimmering lagoon makes you forget all your regrets, and the wisteria blossoms enveloped you with a sweetness that was indescribable, but damn the heat. It’s as if you stepped inside the sun’s core.

Your eyes lifted, searching for Nile and Booker across the stone bridge. If your gaze continued to linger on Booker, you’d be forced to remember the reality of Andy’s situation, and his desperate attempts to become mortal. You couldn’t believe how accepting Joe was or how they allowed him on this mission.

I guess exile is hard to bear on both sides, you thought.

Nile’s head remained tilted towards a week-old newspaper, sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose. Across from her was Booker, leaning back, his arms lazily resting on his chair and his eyes set on a building down their street. His tongue wets his cracking lips as he rests his ankle upon his knee. From a distance, their faces look distorted under the scorching rays.

Creaking, the sound of an aged door caught Booker’s attention. Pebbles crack beneath two pairs of boots.

“Two of them just came out. No sign of the third.” A static voice rang within your ear. He brought a cup up to his lips, discreetly speaking, “They’re headed your way, Nicky.”

Peering from above, you saw Nico, who subtly pointed his nose towards the goal. He leans back into his chair by the pizzeria. Joe, who’s sitting beside him, was resting his arms against the oak table. The two smugglers were moving briskly across the bridge and towards the couple.

The plan was simple: separate the men from their vessels, retrieve the contraband, and release the hostage—who happens to be an important political figure from the U.S. However, your part in the whole affair was to be on watch and move only to retrieve the hostage. By Andy’s guidelines, combat and confrontation were strictly prohibited. And if you move, despite her orders, then cartilage would splatter onto the stone beneath you. They were violent criminals and wouldn’t mind the bloodshed. These men didn’t deserve life—but death would make their next twenty-five’s much easier.

Andy was busy securing a motorboat by the ledge, preparing for the luggage. Normally, Andy would be in charge of retrieving the hostage, but after a long time of begging convincing—you happened to take over the role.

Your gaze remained fixed on the target building.

“I don’t think the third one’s coming,” you spoke in a huff. You prayed that this possibility wouldn’t occur, but it was just your luck. The men must’ve known about the guard’s plan. You sharpened your vision on the street. The shorter convict looked over his shoulder periodically. For being a smuggler, he was riddled with paranoia. He must be new to his own game.

Andy broke her radio silence, “Give it time. Don’t move.”

And surely enough, the last convict appeared with several padlocked cases. He makes hasty strides down the walkway towards another boat.

“They’re moving the guns,” the whisper left your lips, brows knitted together. No other listening ear could hear your confusion, but you were certain that they were just as confused. As you watched him stack the illicit goods, an irregular breath leapt from your throat. Andy murmured a “fuck” under her breath.

Seconds later, the same man hoists onto the cobblestone and, in his peripheral vision, locks his gaze on you. He stands for a beat. His fingers pinched the paper between his lips, puffing smoke before he dropped it. Lit embers smear across the concrete and his pause gnaws apart the wrinkles of your brain. Turning, he pulls out his revolver and blasts. Bullets shattering through the glass and dust of your apartment. Debris floats like ashes in the wind.

“Shit!” You gritted through your teeth. A tremble catches fire deep within your bones, and you drop beneath the frame. You gasp for a breath of air, cobwebs and dust bunnies restricting your airflow. With your palm, you clasp the stinging sensation on your neck until it soothes itself. The skin replenishes within seconds. A bullet had grazed the flesh.

The streets swarmed and stores erupted with shrieks from the civilians. Andy ducks into the boat, wide-eyed and watching. Too many people are in danger in front of a gun. Nile’s foot bounced restlessly as she’s glaringly fixated on the man. She hadn’t had the time to shed her impulsive convictions as she had recently joined the guard. Her devotion was strong even in the most dying times. She makes a move, crossing over to prevent the man from retreating. Booker remained steady, his head shaking in disapproval. The plan was unraveling in your hands—threads began interweaving and forming intricate knots.

On the other side, the two other convicts blasted at Nico and Joe. Both endured wounds and without assessing them, the bullets spat out, excreting onto the ground. The two immortals wasted no time. Nico intercepts the wrist of one, kicks his foot out from underneath, and yanks hold of the gun. Joe clutches the clasping hands of the other and forces the muzzle away from him. A crack cries through the air. The bullet flies and clinks on bricks, causing stones to crumble down. Then, he clashes skulls with the convict. Joe lets out a groan as the man folds back and releases the revolver. It wasn’t over. The men rapidly recovered on their feet with a newfound stamina.

As your shoes pattered to the first floor, the air became dense. You tumble out of the deteriorating frame of the building. Sprinting over the bridge to Nile, a desperate determination surges through your veins. Gunfire slashes the air furiously. Nile was scrapping with the trigger happy man as you took advantage of the diversion. You took a detour between buildings, turning narrow corners and sprinting down tightly-stretched alleys until you reached the other side. Hastily, you shoved your leather-covered elbow into a window frame, busting the glass.

Out front, Nile was treading on a thin line. Her hand firmly took the convict’s revolver. At the sudden contact, the edge cracked his brow bone, and he grunts while his palm cups his busted open brow.

“Nile, do not kill him.” Booker spoke for Andy, rising from his chair with a sense of urgency. At the edge, Andy climbed onto the pavement then strided over to attend to the situation.

Glass snaps under your dark soles as you shuffled discreetly through the heat encased home. Peeking your head through the doorframes with a gun held by your thigh, you take note of a few rooms. Nature was seeping through the cracks and crevices. The living room had a plastic-covered couch which was crudded with grey dust, a sickening stale stench wafted as wind blew in from the window. It makes your nose scrunch and its hairs curl. The room was packed to the brim with cases of firearms and duffel bags of illicit pharmaceuticals. You halted as you heard a sudden thud vibrating through the second floor.

Fingers straining around the handle of your pistol, you move the muzzle outwards and retrace your steps to a wooden staircase. Each step you climb squeaked. The sun’s rays provide natural guidance for your path. The wrinkling wallpaper leaks of a muffled sob. Pieces were wilting, ripping off like a scab as you wandered by. With an alert gaze, you head for the sobs. Every step made the boards whine and expel dust particles. One shudders under the pressure before snapping inward and clawing at your ankle. With a grunt, you yank through the splinters and break free from its teeth.

A vein pulsates along your throat, you didn’t trust anything about this. As you reached the top, you grew still, looking down the narrow path. Stepping into a cramped bedroom, you recognized Miss Brown, your hostage. She’s shakily slouched over, her body rocking in a trance. A sharp metallic aroma, which you knew all too well, encircles your form. You stood at arms length, brows furrowed. Tears streamed down Miss Brown’s tanned cheeks and her lip quivered a whisper, “My sweet baby girl, my Eliana.”

“Miss Brown?” you called out to her, hand gently grasping her shoulder. You peer over her to see a girl resting in her arms. The child’s gaze was soulless and her chest didn’t rise. That brought a seeping stillness through your spine…God, she looked just like your sister, but that was impossible.

A click of a pistol reverberates in the silence. As you jerk around, the sides of your vision grew hazy. A fourth smuggler pointed his revolver straight at you, and with a quick movement, you charged at him. A bullet thunders from the chamber. You grunt, body jolting at the impact. A trickle of blood dribbles through your dark tank to your waistband. A scowl passes your lips, dragging the man down with you. His wrists scored from your nails as you clawed for the weapon. A bruising blow strikes your cheek. Your head thrusts back, spitting blood between your teeth. As you fumble with your own pistol, you shove his out of reach.

A loud crack echoes as the chamber of your pistol bashes into his nose. Knuckles clashed against his face until his windpipe wheezed. You took the man’s revolver and slipped his gun into your waistband from behind. Glancing over your shoulder, you said, “You’re safe with me and my team. We’ll get you out of here as soon as we can.”

You informed the woman as she stared at you, her eyes red-tinged. She only nodded before you darted out. Sprinting down the stairs and into the living room, you gathered duffel bags and boxes until your lips split in a hiss at the gushing of a wound. With heavy eyes, you glance down at the crimson that has soaked your shirt. The healing process seems to be delayed. You ignored it with the zip of your jacket and continued to pull more than you could carry. You staggered out of the building and sprinted towards the boat, tossing the inventory. As you look over, you realize both Nico and Joe had left along with their men.

The now wrist tied convict was lying on the ground, Nile, Book, and Andy was surrounding him. Threats spoken in Italian were leaving through his mustache. You hadn't a clue of what any of it meant, but by the looks from Booker—it was distasteful. Breathlessly, you approached and asked, “Where's Nicky and Joe?”

Andy nodded towards the end of an arching bridge; a roaring of several boat engines began, “Toying around as usual.”

She had an amused smirk playing on her lips as the boats jetted by. The two convicts were driving one boat, while the other was driven by Joe and Nico. It was the usual cat and mouse game they’d play when given the chance. Though, this time they were the cat. That was until the boat in front of them crashed. The immortals climbed over the boat’s edge, and tumbled onto the other. Their advantage allowed them to apprehend the men and prevent them from jumping overboard.

“Miss Brown is on the second floor. I'll get the bags,” you inform with a trembling voice before heading inside.

Andy watched you leave before decidingly telling the others, “Keep an eye on them; I’ll go help her,” and then followed after. The pair watched as the couple goofed about and the man beneath them.

She skimmed through the silent halls, briefly eyeing your drained physique. You loomed over the bags, your palm against a wall, bracing yourself. It was an unusual sight that raised all her alarms. But with a turn, she hurried up the stairs—pausing midway as she was taken aback by the sight of another smuggler. With a pull of her gun from its holster, she walked over hesitantly then nudged him with the toe of her boot. When he only responded with a hazy groan, she turned the corner of a door frame to meet the sniffling woman. Andy’s gaze fell on the daughter and goose skin covered her body. Her eyes narrowed at the man behind her.

The temptation to kill the guy spread like wildfire, and she exhaled flames while she shook her head. Making her way over, she helps the mother onto her feet and out of the building, securing her on the boat. The woman’s eyes were dull and lost in her daughter’s cold body as she clutched her deceased loved one.

“Book, eyes on this asshole. And Nile,” she turns, “you go talk to her. See if you can get a response.” She called, nodding to Brown before returning back into the building.

After gathering the contraband, the both of you hauled them onto the boat, wrapping it with ropes to secure their hold. Your breath grew ragged as you made sudden moves, the bullet delved further to hide within your flesh. It was strange, you’d forgotten how it felt to have a permanent wound. Andy took notice of your form but didn’t question it. This wasn’t the time nor place. So, sticking to the plan, she retrieves the fourth guy from the building, forces him onto the boat, and binds his feet and hands together.

Nico and Joe copied the same procedure. As Nico held them under his handgun, Joe made a U-turn and was met with your boats side by side.

Nile lifted the last off the ground, led him onto the boat, and asked Andy for some rope. The smugglers were beaten and bound, ready for their imprisonment. After everything’s secured, your body sinks into the squeaky seat behind the wheel. The turbine roars and spins when you flick the engine on.

The next step was to place the men in the custody of officials, then send Brown back to the states. It was a swift end to a lengthy and unexpected mission. Normally, you’d celebrate on the way back, but with the taste of agony you sustained—you weren’t so sure you could operate the boat for very long.

A sigh of relief left you as you rested your hand on the wheel, comfortably. Andy sat beside you, irritability painted her face. It was the same expression she used when she would rant about the world turning to shit. You hadn’t noticed this while your attention extended beyond the waves. The sight made you reminisce on your first encounter with the guard.

Before Nile’s immortality, there was yours. Your childhood best friend, Shawn, held you for a drug ransom on a boating trip. His strong arm kept you in a headlock, the sun reflecting off the blade pricking your throat. He was screaming over the phone like a premature infant. As you thrashed about, you fell freely off the boat’s end—the propellers tearing through your face and bone marrow. Blotches of Scarlet wine filled the blue ocean. Hours later, you washed up on a shoreline. While heaving up salty water you were met with a pair of boots, grains of sand trickling down to your shaky hands and your gaze was met by a rather irritated Scythian. Her impatience and cynicism made an impression on you. She told you that she dreamt of you, saw unusual visions that you couldn’t explain, and that you had to follow her. She dealt with a whole lot of resistance until you complied.

You got closer to Andromache after months and months of intense training. It was a bond that she was reluctant to ever have again, especially after Quynh. Though, to your surprise, she was consistent in saying that you may wake her up to talk, even if it was in the middle of the night. She assured you that your voice was just as important as the next. She made certain that you had clothing on your back, food in your stomach, and a group to call a family.

Your name echoed as you were engrossed in your memories, which faded as your name returned you to reality. The Scythian was by your side, oddly grinned through her exhaustion..

“Yeah?” You said it with eyes that never left their place.

“You alright? You seemed distracted.” Her body is facing you, searching for a hint of the problem. Over the time you spent together, she could easily detect your lies. You knew that, but you continued to wear a shield.

You give a subtle nod. “Yeah, sorry, I'm just…I’m exhausted. We haven’t had a mission like this in a while.”

Andy sensed a lie but let it slide. “Right. I'll take over, and you get some rest.”

Standing with your fingers steadying the rim, you sighed and took her previous seat. She looked over before refocusing on the water. "I know this isn’t my forte, but,” a beat passes, “I'm here if you need to talk.” She spoke with an unnaturally sincere tone.

Her eyes caught yours as a grateful smile played over your lips. The boat remained silent except for the sound of water rippling across its sides. Your hand wandered beneath your jacket, feeling for a wound. You hoped that once you felt the skin, the wound would be like any other—healed.

I’m just experiencing some phantom pain, you thought.

But that was not the case. There was no placebo effect when you sharply inhaled. A syrupy rouge coats your fingers as they caress the depth of the wound. How would you bring this up to the team, let alone Andy? Refusing to believe it, you maintained the facade for a while longer until you reached ashore.

After contacting Copley to tie up the loose ends, you all returned to a rented home in Barcelona, Spain. It wasn’t a hideout, but a desperate desire for a vacation. You had the place rented for a few days now.

You were the first to reach the navy door, and a golden key in your right palm clicked to unlock it. As you enter the place, a waft of citrus drifts over your musk, with a flick of a switch, the hallway illuminates and you slip off your shoes. Your muscles sighed and led you to the bathroom in search of privacy. Looking down, you could see yourself reflected in the tiles. With a shrug, your jacket slips off your shoulders and you take a seat on the toilet lid. You lift the hem of your shirt up to your chest. As you tug a switchblade from your denim pocket, your teeth tightens on the shirt’s edge. You knew you had to remove this damn bullet and cleanse its mark before an infection spreads. Already, you were missing your regenerative abilities.

Bracing yourself, you use the blade’s tip to rouse the exposed tissue. You groan into your shirt, clenching your teeth as you fish the bullet out. The wound began to get more bloody until a sudden clink bounced then rolled on the floor. You fumbled for the bullet and shove it down your jeans pocket with a bloodied hand then spat your shirt out in a huff. Breathing heavily with a sweat glistening forehead, you turned to the medicine cabinet. It was no surprise when it appeared empty. Nobody needed any when you could regrow an amputation within seconds, so you went to the only other mortal’s room: Andy’s.

Stumbling over a few of her bags, you land on your knees by her bed. In your search for a small box, you tilt your head under the bed frame, brushing back the comforter. Your eyes glossed over a box of dirty laundry then landed on what you were looking for. Curling your fingers over the cardboard edge, you quietly tug it out and gather a container of peroxide with bandages.

With the peroxide in hand, you tug half of your shirt over your shoulder. You made no effort to be patient and doused the bullet hole. A tumultuous sizzling strikes deep and sends a hushed whine past your lips. The pain radiating deep in your intestine as the germs suffocate. There was no doubt that every atom in your body wished for death to come sooner. While your body ached, you pressed the cap closed and hastily put a bandage over the injury. Shuddering at the sensation, you looked over your work—almost proud despite the despair of returning to your original lifestyle. You returned the items to their original place, adjusted your shirt and retreated to the kitchen as the rest of the guard filed in with their hyena laughs. Getting caught was the last thing you wanted to deal with.

By now, an orange light shines through the window above the sink, and tiny floating lights flicker in the wind. Mountains line for miles in the distance. The view was serene until dreary thoughts began to interfere. Deep down, you knew there was a part of you that would never accept the way you approached life. How could you? If you can’t save yourself, how could you possibly save others? Especially Lucia or Eliana.

You couldn’t remember how long you stood, staring out across the yard. Decidedly, you tended to tonight's dinner. Most nights, Nico and Joe would be in the kitchen making some sort of delicious meal. And being the lovebirds that they are, they’d make a mess with flour or diced onions or other ingredients. But they refused to let anyone else to clean it up but themselves—and that was greatly appreciated.

You weren’t a top-notch chef or anything, but you didn’t want to disappoint any of them. Even if you felt a pulsating numbness in your gut, nothing was to stop you from making a decent meal. You had to help out every once in a while, and this was your chance.

Andy took note of your swift and rocky movements. She realized how unusual this was when she took in the sight of your mission attire. Usually, you’d be the first to take a shower since you couldn’t stand the feeling of grease in your hair or the pungent sweat odor. She decided to make no mention of it.

“Whatcha making?” She asked.

You steadied your hand as you held a knife, a rhythmic tapping echoing as you sliced up bell peppers, “Linguine. Mind helping me with dicing the onions over there?”

You nod towards the other side of the counter. She gave you a quick hum of confirmation then took her place by your side. Her eyes look over, the look of concentration on your face as your brows pushed together. Her fingers peel back layers of the onion.

“I can’t believe we didn’t hear about the kid,” you said, softly.

“Me neither. Brown may be safe now, but that doesn’t matter when her daughter’s dead. It was a major fuck up…I should’ve seen this sooner,” her tone grew thick with self-hatred. She was the leader, she called the shots and made the plan—it was her fault. But you didn’t see it that way. You paused, knife in hand as you went unresponsive.

As you stared blankly, the quiet breaking of an onion being sliced caused you to refocus. The conversation was put on pause, its shadow following you across the kitchen as you diced assorted vegetables, simmered the noodles, fried shrimp and seasoned your dish with basil. You looked over to find Andy speaking with the other guards while a Spanish-dubbed episode of The Looney Toons Show played on the television. Having a family like this meant that whatever predicament you were in, it would be resolved within a few minutes.

Glasses clink as you pull them from the cupboard and pour individual glasses of wine. Except for Andy and you, everyone else had gathered their dinner and resided in the living room. Sometimes you had to remind Andy to eat after a long day, especially when she had that distant gaze and a silence that replaced her friendly demeanor. So, you put together both of your plates and took them over, sitting between her and Booker. While you handed her the dish, you recognized that defeated expression on her face; it was the same look she had the day before meeting Nile.

As Joe switches between the channels, he stops on a broadcast. You paid no mind as you ate your plate of food. Chewing on the tender shrimp, you heard the name ‘Eliana Brown’ mentioned. With a quick glance, you looked up to the picture of the little girl you saw today. There were various pictures of her and her family together. They seemed so happy, it made your heart wring itself into a pulp. You may need to be resuscitated.

“Today, we’re mourning the loss of Eliana Brown, Audrey Brown’s daughter, who passed away at the age of eight.” a forced professional voice rang.

Watching the screen, a sour taste grew like bacteria in your mouth. Suddenly the food tasted spoiled and maggots were swarming in your stomach. News of what you’ve done—or haven’t done—just made your stomach acid bubble into your throat. With downturned eyes, tears began welling. You prayed that no one else noticed.

Lucia was the same age when she died. Her face had haunted you for years and years—an inescapable reminder that you couldn’t save everyone. She had hair that pooled down her back, glasses with only one corrected lens, and almost perfect teeth if she hadn’t constantly grinded them in her sleep. She was the smartest girl in her class, despite acting out because your parents didn’t pay attention to her; unlike they did when it came to you.

Your sister didn’t want to be around you often because of that reason. She had the understanding of resentment at a very young age and it stretched beyond recognition. There was a point in time when she considered running away. You caught her in the act and kept her back from the backdoor. Even though she was kicking and hollering with her childlike fury, she calmed down and began sobbing over how loved you were compared to her. She was the youngest, yet she was treated as intolerable and insignificant. You never understood why she didn’t like you until that moment, when you were embracing her for dear life. She was condemned for existing; you were condemned for what you couldn’t change.

After that you did your best to be her parental figure. There were times when she told you she wished you were her mom. She sobbed in the crook of your neck, braided your hair, slept in your arms when she had night terrors, and when mom and dad got a divorce—she was right by your side. That was until a custody battle resulted in her being taken into custody by your father. One day, on the way back to his place, their car was totaled. Hospital bills were not cheap, and neither was her little casket.

You gathered together your plate and cup and went to put them away, “I’m going for a walk.” You slipped on your coat, eyes following your steps.

“Y/N,” Andy called out, rising from her seat and waiting for your turn. But running away was part of your instincts. It’s how you avoided being miserable. So, you briefly stood in the doorframe, taking a deep breath before you left. The door shut with a click and silence replaced your absence.

“I think you should talk to them.” Nile said.

“Let them be for a while,” Booker interjected.

Andy looks over, “They haven't been acting right since the mission. I saw them struggling to carry themselves. To even carry the bags.”

They all shared a look of mutual concern.

“The kid,” Nico said, “a sight like that can change someone. Especially if that person has a heart like theirs. They’re blaming themself. The last thing you should do is leave them with their thoughts.”

Joe nodded along, “He’s right, boss. We’re all they got.”

Andy’s gaze drops to the floor in a silent thought. None of them spoke as the air grew thicker.

“They had a sister.”

You walked along a trail nearing a wide pond. The sun dips between the trees and stars flutter in the clouds. Wind whispers amongst the branches, making them dance. It was as if you were living inside a Van Gogh painting. As busy as you became after being reborn, you grew to ignore the essence of nature. Its beauty was just as captivating as it was when you were a child. Lucia used to say, “We’re made of crushed stars. That's why we always find each other. You're my favorite star.”

It stayed with you ever since. Sometimes the purest hearts go through the most pain, but they evolve with a love unlike no other. It left you wondering why you couldn’t be like that. Could you ever learn to be that?

After a while of walking, you heard a pair of footsteps reaching you. You halt at the sound of dirt kicking up, a beat follows.

“Care if I join you?” Andy walked up beside you. One hand in her jean pocket while the other held a bottle of vodka.

Facing her, you looked at the bottle before averting your gaze and turning back to keep walking, “Sure. As long as you don’t mind sharing.”

She lets out a brief chuckle and takes a swig as her steps fall in line with yours, “I told you, you can talk to me.”

“I know.” Your hand instinctively reaches for the bottle. Taking your own swig, your nose scrunched with a cough at the bitter taste. It was like rubbing alcohol swishing down your throat.

Andy’s fixed her gaze on you, “But you’re not. And that worries me.”

“There’s nothing that you don’t know already.”

“Really? If it was nothing you’d be at the house with the rest of us. You wouldn’t be bullshit me—“

“I’m not bullshitting you, Andy?”

You sighed, “Listen, I don’t have to talk about anything. Not now at least. It’s nice to have you walk with me, but only if you don’t berate me into talking.”

Andy knew that you were repressing. With a more sincere tone she spoke, “We wanted to know that you were okay. We’re all worried about you. You haven’t been yourself since Venice, so something had to happen and you’re not talking about it.”

As you walk, your jaw clenches into silence at her words and you continue to stare ahead.

“I promised you that I’d do everything in my power to be here for you. I’m not going back on that. So, no, I’m not gonna leave you alone when you’re acting like this,” Andy responded to your display of silence.

“Andy, leave it. Staying by my side puts you at risk. People who stay close to me get killed. Just go home,” the soles of your shoes scratch as they still. Something in your tone spoke of fear—or maybe the truth.

Her eyes glossed over, she was speechless. Those words didn’t seem to be coming from you. If anything, it came from your past. Guilt was written all over your face and it became clear that you had a goal, a longing for an escape from this life. Andy stood still as you walked away through the bushes and hanging branches.

Fear was leading you further away from the house. A wispy field of grass revealed itself to you, and you trotted through it, blossoming weeds swaying against your legs. You couldn’t mend the void that lingered in your chest. Not even immortality could do that. It consumed your being for the longest time. Nothing that life offered seemed to reverse it. Your hand trembled in a fist, feet forcing themselves to nowhere. Down the field, you saw a rusted tow truck, the wheels dismantled and one of the doors peeling outward. It was a hazard in the midst of an alluring field. A breeding ground for tetanus.

“You know it’s not safe out here,” Andy called out between the trees, hopping over a tree trunk. Her pace gathering speed.

“Go back, Andy!” your voice rose.

Frustrated, she grabs your wrist to make you halt, “Can you please stop, god damn it!”

A sharp, irritated grunt leaves your throat as your hand reaches for something to grab. Stumbling back, your hand made contact with the protruding metal sheet of the truck, the jagged edges slicing through a few layers of your hand.

You gasp a painful hiss, groaning and shrugging Andy off instinctively. You cupped your hand and fixated on the fresh wound. You weren’t healing and Andy was stuck watching you become more sensitive to the pain. The goo drenched your palm, trickled along the sides and pelted your shoes. Like the bullet, it was inevitable.

“I didn’t want to talk. Why couldn’t you handle that?” Your tone softens as you grew petrified. The reality of your situation was hitting harder than before. Your eternity expired from a single bullet to the side. For the first time in a very long time, fear riddled all your senses as if you’ve just woken up from an everlasting illusion.

Andy’s fingers brushed yours gently, searching the wound for any evidence of re-knitting. Nothing appeared to be happening. This was the last thing she was worried about. You were a young immortal, so how was this possible?

“You’re not healing. Why aren’t you healing?” Her voice tensed.

You couldn't get the words out of your parted lips, instead an emotional sigh left you, “It’s my fault, Andy,” you turned away, “It’s all my fault. This is what I get.”

Andy stared at you confused, “What are you talking about?”

“Eliana is dead because of me.“

“No, Y/n she’s not—“

“If I had listened to my gut, she would still be here! she would be safe and with her mother. There wouldn’t be a tombstone dedicated to her! God, the look on Miss Brown's face.” Word flew out of your mouth in a heartbeat, you couldn’t bear the guilt. You were certain that you sealed the fate of that little girl.

“If I had known that would’ve happened—immortal or not—I would’ve taken that fucking bullet for her!” Your voice cracking with rage.

“I know you would’ve.” Andy said, your eyes refused to meet hers until she tilted your chin up using her thumb, “You had no control over what happened in there. Nobody knew it was gonna turn out like that.”

A tear slips down your cheek before you sniffle a sob as she pulls you into her shoulder. Her fingers shakily ran through your hair tenderly.

While choking up on your tears, you began speaking into her shoulder, “It’s my job to protect and defend. It was my duty. I failed and now she’s dead. She can’t come back…Oh, my Lucia…I’m so sorry.”

You hardly talked about your family, but when you did, it was always about Lucia. And Andy was the only one who knew all the stories. Unfortunately, you hadn’t lived a long enough time to be able to forget her or disconnect from the relationship entirely. It’s been only 30 years since you learned of your immortality. Lucia passed before then and you were okay with the idea of finding her in the afterlife—if there is one that is. Frustratingly enough, you gained a curse that made that part inevitable.

“None of this is your fault. You hear me? Not Eliana, not even Lucia,” a beat passes, “Remember that time in South Sudan? We were going to save those girls…I knew that plan was waiting to blow up in our faces. But I took the risk because I thought it would do some good. I was pissed when there weren’t any.”

As you dampened her skin and said, “And you lost your immortality because of it.”

She nodded before continuing, “We risked ourselves that night to save the innocents of the world. People need soldiers like us to end wars, stop famine, fight for the rights of others, but none of the ones who are complaining do anything. They all sit on their ass with bougie air conditioners and buffets.. We stepped up, but what did that get us? Nothing…It was a mistake on my part. I led us into that trap and we paid for it. But I made that choice and I don’t regret why I did it. So don’t crucify yourself. You wanted to save a life and you did more than everything you could.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said, lowering your arms and stepping away from her.

“Look…I know how it feels to lose someone close to you. I made a promise, put someone at risk and lost them as a result.”

You listened calmly, your sobs stabbing at her own chest. The pain you felt had always lingered with her, “Bad things happen to people who don’t deserve it. And everyday, you wish to feel their pain. To understand their complicated lives. You refuse to believe that they’re dead and not out there waiting for you to come back into their arms.”

Her fingers caressing the necklace that hung over her chest. Her eyes reflected a hue of a thousand memories that she held so tightly to.

“I don’t know how to move on,” you said.

“You can’t. You find a purpose and hope to find them in another life. And by the look on your face, I know you're scared. And I wouldn’t lie to you, I was scared too.” She said,

You looked at her, “I thought you wanted to be mortal. To leave this life behind.”

“I did. I’ve lived the same day over and over, for thousands of years. I’m tired. That amount of time can make anyone bitter, depressed, cruel. It forces you to see the world from a different lens. You forget the important things, but you're still left to deal with the pain. And I’m glad that it’s over. I don't have to live another millennia before I can rest…It’s just that I have people who rely on me. I’ll miss them,” the words cracking in her throat.

She couldn’t help but reminisce over her team. Joe, Nico, Booker, Nile, and you. She wasn’t the type to show a lot of outward appreciation, but deep down she really loved all of you.

“My life should’ve ended 500 years ago,” she cleared her throat while her fingers comfortingly hold onto the necklace, “But as I’m still here, I look at the people who treat me as one of them, who eat at my table—and I’m really happy that they’re in my life. I’m finally at peace. The only thing I wish to share with them before I go is time.”

“But why now? Why did I lose mine so soon?” You asked.

“I don’t know. It’s unfortunate, but everything that lives is bound to die…There’s no escaping that, kid.”

You have a wet smile on your face and attempt to dry your eyes with the back of your palm, “I don’t know if I could ever accept it. Lucia was everything to me. It’s like once I find myself a family, they get stripped away before I could become grateful for them.”

Andy looked over at you, “We will always take the meaningful parts for granted, it’s always been this way. Lucia wouldn’t want you to live your life through the ‘what if’s’.”

A silence washed over the two of you. Comfortable and accepting. It wasn’t something you were used to even after all this time.

“We should get going before we need to amputate my hand,” you joked. She passed you a chuckle and began leading you back.

“Hey,” you called out and once she turned around you chose your words carefully, “I know how much you miss Quynh. She’ll find her way back to you.”

Her eyes flickered with an intense vulnerability that you’ve never seen before. All she could do was throw a weak smile at you as tears welled up in her eyes then you followed in her footsteps.

#fic #andromache the scythian #🥺

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