sekkritaus | Rex / Andy / Poe Freelance Heroes AU

Andy -- [ Rex hisses at her, but she's already off. If they were anywhere but here, he'd cuss her out for this, for this needless recklessness when she may be experienced, may be strong, but she's not invincible. Hell, he's not invincible, he and Poe alike, and this is a damn good way of getting them all killed once they realize that they're here. It's the first time that he realizes that they may be out of their depth as he darts around the corner, twisting a knob on the side of his helmet to ensure his ventilators are working. ]

Andy, [ he says through gritted teeth, in a way where he manages to make a whisper sound like a yell, a skill only mastered by parents, teachers, and pissy uptight soldiers. ] Get the hell out of there. We don't know what that stuff does. Now come on before the whole place is on our ass. We need to find what we're looking for and get the hell out. If you recall, this was supposed to be an intel mission.

[ As though he hadn't been encouraging this from the start. What can he say? He's a hypocrite. ]

[ He's right. They should get out of there. Scythians may be made of sturdy stuff, and sure, she's got an auxiliary organ or two in there, but she's not invulnerable — she can still get sick, even if they've never seen it. She's still only flesh and bone. She still —

She's not listening to him, is she? She hasn't even turned her head in his direction. Which wouldn't be entirely unusual, under different circumstances — Andy is especially practiced at feigning disinterest — but not here, not when there are stakes. No, she's just... Standing there with one hand over her eyes as if she has a headache, or maybe like the lights overhead are too bright. Her breaths are — wheezing, just for a few inhales and exhales. As if something were stuck in her throat.

Her other hand is still gripping her bloody knife. Imperceptibly, her fingers curl a little tighter.

It seems an eternity before her arm finally drops. She turns her head just slightly towards him. Enough that he must be able to see — how bloodshot her eyes are, how dark they are, even more than usual, from how wide her pupils have been blown. ]

I don't know. [ Her voice rasps a little. And not just in the usual way, from smoking all those goddamn cigarettes. Like there's sandpaper scraping on every word. Almost like a growl. ] I'm having fun.

[ That's all the warning he gets before she's lunging at him, that blade glinting, deadly and sharp. ]

Andy.

[ Rex is worried as she stands there, wheezing. Of course he is. He doesn't know what that canister was full of, if Andy's going to perish like those he'd watched slowly wheeze and die, blue veins crawling through them, if there are greater ramifications they have yet to see, if it has changed something integral to what or who Andy is. He reaches out to her, but he stops short of her shoulder.

When she turns, he's glad that he did. He doesn't recognize that look in her eye. He's seen her in the midst of battle, looking half-mad with bloodlust, a different way from how cold and calculated he is in battle - a way that he'd always admired in a way, a relic of a far-gone era that Rex could only ever dream of. But this isn't that. She's infected. She's sick.

And more importantly, she's coming after him. He takes a step back, the knife just narrowly missing him, the very tip of it skittering across his armour, scratching a thin line in the blue paint there. She's coming after him, but she's still talking. Does that mean he can get through to her? ]

Stop it and think for a moment, [ he says, though he's not waiting around to see if he can get through to her; he's already ducking around her, reaching for the vibroblade at his side, because he's not going to shoot her. Not when she's like this. He could try stunning her - and may still - but that's the sort of thing that interacts poorly with certain medications. Certain poisons.

This has turned her against him. He's not going to risk killing her. ]

You can fight this. I'm not the one you want to kill here.

[ She seems to right now. It's a damn good thing he's wearing his armour. He never could beat her in a hand-to-hand fight. ]

[ It's almost like there's an odd haze over everything. She can hear him — she knows Rex's voice, and she knows he's telling her to stop, but there's a funny disconnect to it all, like she can't quite remember why that should matter. Or maybe it just matters less that this sudden surge of adrenaline — the driving aggression, the impulse to draw blood. Her whole body sings with it, and it comes a little too naturally to her, toxic gas or no. She comes from a primitive people, their Andy, a race that only adapted to the stars when their homeworld was left in ruins, and it's in her DNA, to charge into battle with nothing more than a sharp object in her hand.

The sound of her knife scraping against his armor sends electricity right down her spine.

She can't stop. She can't think. It's like a switch has been flipped. All she wants is the violence. Friend or foe — it doesn't matter.

Her bloodshot eyes flicker down when he reaches for his vibroblade, and her mouth cuts into a smirk, mean and amused. ]

Come on, babe. [ She lunges at him again, keeping right on him, not giving him a second to catch his footing as she swipes at him again, agile as she ever was and not holding back — not the way she does when they spar. ] Not going to go for the blasters? I'm going to gut you, if you try to play nice —

[ It's strange. The worst part of this should be the way she's looking at him, eyes bloodshot, movements limber and loose with a certain recklessness that he never sees directed at him, or the way she's smiling at him like he's something she could eat alive, or the fact that he knows that she's sick, that any moment she might keel over from the side effects of whatever the kriff she got blasted with. For some reason, though, the worst part is when she calls him babe. There's always a lilt to it when she says it, as though it's half a joke, half sincere, but there's always been some sort of wry affection there.

The recognition's there, and so are the pet names - but his Andy's not the one talking anymore. ]

You're going to try to gut me either way, [ he snaps back. ] Don't think I can't hold my own against you.

[ It's something he'd say while they were just sparring.

But he'd never take a vibroblade and try to plunge it into her shoulder if they were just sparring. ]

[ Most people would try to dodge. But Andy isn't most people. And she has a distinctly Scythian way of fighting — a kind of borderline stupid recklessness that would probably get someone else killed dead. Not her though. She's had centuries to learn just how much punishment her resilient body can take. She knows what kind of sacrifices she can afford to make to get the advantage. It probably makes her take more risks than she really should — and that's on a normal day. That's without whatever fucked up shit has got her red-eyed and gunning to cut her own lover's throat.

So, no. She doesn't dodge. She lets that knife sink right into her shoulder — because fuck it, she doesn't need that arm. She has two, doesn't she? And she's already switched hands by the time the fresh blood comes pouring out, drenching her sleeve. Gods — does she even feel it? Or does the toxin take the pain away too? Maybe it doesn't matter, because she doesn't slow down half as much as she should with a vibroblade sticking out of her. With her own blade in her other hand, she takes their proximity as an opening.

It's a feat of swift precision when she goes for his helmet, wedging the sharp point of her knife just so and flicking her wrist to flip the damn thing off. She's practically using her bedroom voice when she taunts: ]

Let's see that handsome face, Rex.

[ It feels as though Rex feels the weight of his blade sinking into Andy's shoulder more than Andy herself does. They've fought before, sometimes viciously, but it always wound up with them tossing each other around, getting into each other's faces, blunt force but never anything more. Maybe that's why he doesn't manage to stop her from flicking his helmet off, leaving it to rattle its way across the floor. Or maybe it's because she's just that good. Whatever the reason, Rex doesn't move quickly enough to stop her, yanking his own blade out of her shoulder and trying not to focus on the sickly feeling of her blood soaking into his glove.

This isn't how Rex fights. Oh, you could say that he fights with his blasters so he's unused to close combat, but that's not it. He's been in training for this. He doesn't fight like this, like someone desperate not to hurt his opponent, not taking the easy openings where he sees them, not acting with the swift precision that he always does. He should, he knows. But there is a gap between knowing and doing, and that gap yawns before him, a choice that he won't be able to take back if the worst comes to pass. It's the style of a man who wants to subdue, not kill, but very few (if any) have ever successfully subdued a Scythian. ]

If you're lucid enough to remember my name, then you're lucid enough to know why this is a bad idea, [ he snaps back, not sparing a second glance at his helmet. He lunges forward, moving to grab at her wrist to pin her against the wall. ]

Don't be a fool. There are people here who you ought to kill. I'm not one of them, and you know it. How do you see this ending?

[ It's a futile effort, he knows. But Rex is nothing if not an expert in trying to reason with a situation when reason has long since met its end. ]

[ She barks out a mean laugh, baring her teeth with it. If she were herself, it might break her fucking heart — the fact that he tries to reason with her, to appeal to her better nature while holding back because he gives a real damn about her, even though she's gunning to get her knife into something vital — but it's as if some part of her that cares about all that has been chemically switched off. Or is it that the part of her which thrives on violence has been disinhibited? That dark part of her — the piece that shows in flashes when she's on the battlefield, a bloody and vicious blur as she cuts her way through their enemies like that's what she was made for?

It's probably a lucky thing that Rex still has the advantage of size and strength. And knowing her, from all the times they've sparred and all the missions where they've fought side by side — he knows, at least, to expect her to play dirty. Teeth and nails and when he pins her by the wrist, she retaliates like a nasty schoolboy, kicking him sharply in the shin with her boot as she bites back: ]

I love it when you fucking scold me.

[ Rex grunts with pain, but he had been expecting the blow. He'd managed to steel himself enough not to let that weaken his grasp on her, vicious though she may be. He just grits his teeth and bears it, mind desperately rifling through his options, on how to possibly neutralize her underneath these circumstances - little gods, he wishes Poe were here. Between the two of them, they may be able to just about manage.

Here? Now? He's at a loss, and she knows it. That's why she keeps on trying to goad him. ]

If you're not going to act like yourself, then you shouldn't sound like yourself, [ he grits out, more to himself than to her. There's no reasoning with her. But it makes it harder. Harder to rationalize to say that this isn't her, because this is her, a dark, long-repressed part of her that he loves just the same. It's her, but if things had turned out different. Her, as someone who remembers being with him and loving him, but as someone who wants to hurt him anyway.

It's why he can't bring himself to want to hurt her back. But he has to, which is why in some strange facsimile of happier and harder days, he gives her a good Keldabe Kiss, smashing his forehead into hers.

They'll both be fine. Neither have ever been accused of being anything other than hard-headed. But maybe it will disorient her long enough for him to do something to take her down. ]

[ She's been waiting for it — waiting for him to actually hit her like she knows he can, and there's some sick satisfaction in it when his forehead crashes into hers with such jarring force that it leaves her with spots in her eyes. As the world sways, she can feel a hot trickle of blood from her nose, dripping down along the bow of her upper lip. Fuck, that hurts — and hell, if she were in her right mind, she'd probably love him a little more for it.

Nothing more romantic than being headbutted by your lover.

It earns him an opening, anyway — she's still instinctively tense in his grip, wound up like she's ready to fight, but there's a handful of seconds where she's dazed enough to stall the shin-kicking — and where a Scythian is concerned, that's as good a chance as anybody will ever get. ]

[ Rex takes the opportunity he's given and whips his armoured forearm into her temple hard enough to make her see stars before he begins to try to twist her around and yank one arm behind her back, tugging on it hard enough to hurt, to properly dislocate it if he does it right. He needs to render her at least a little less equipped to stab him to death if he's going to be able to drag her back to the ship, and this is the best way he can think to do it. If this doesn't do it... little gods, the idea of having to break any bones properly is an unavoidably awful one, but even underneath the current set of circumstances, Rex can be pragmatic. She'll heal. He won't. If he's got to break her legs to drag her back wailing like a wild thing, then that's just what he's going to have to do.

There are only two other ways that this will end: with Rex dead, or with the both of them captured and the Imps using Andy as their own weapon. She'd rather die, and he knows it. He twists a little harder, knee jamming into the small of her back. ]

I can make this hurt, Andy, you know I can. If you stay down, I won't have to do the indignity of tying you up and dragging you back myself.

[ Tying her up - now there's a thought. He'd just need to sort out how. ]

[ Now there's a dilemma — tying her up would limit her future efforts to murder him, but getting her tied up would probably have to involve both of his hands, which are rather preoccupied with preventing her future efforts to murder him. If only Rex could be in two places at once. Or maybe had a few extra limbs. But instead, he's stuck with wrangling one bloodthirsty Scythian all by his lonesome, and even with drop dripping down her face, one arm twisted behind her back, and his knee shoved into her back, she hasn't given up on fighting him.

She recovers too fast from the daze of being hit, already straining to test his weight — how resolved he is to keeping her pinned — twisting against his grip, all that lean muscle tense with effort. It's a standstill, as long as he doesn't get distracted or tired. ]

I've been waiting for you to make it hurt — [ Her voice is a rough growl, her teeth showing in a mean, mocking snarl as she cranes her head to catch his eye. ] When was the last time you fucking saw me stay down?

[ There is, maybe, one other option. One that involves betting on a big if. But the Imps made this shit. The shit that has Andy red-eyed and wild. They must have made some kind of antidote too. Maybe on one of the freshly dead men Andy left in the hallway — ]

You've been known to stand down, if you still had two brain cells to rub together, [ Rex snaps, grunting as he strains to keep her stationary, yanking harder at her arm, pressing deeper in a way that would hurt a lesser person. But he can't stay grappled with her like this forever - though it is, he's afraid, deeply tempting - and he needs to figure out his next move, and fast. He could lead her back to the ship. He's sure they have something there to knock her out. It would be a hell of a run, but he could do it, provided he could outrun her, which he's not wholly convinced of.

But he's got to do something. He knows that the Imps' corpses are littering the floor, but he has no time to search their bodies. What he can do, though, is track down one that's still alive. Andy will probably skin them, but they're Imps. Who cares? Not Rex. They deserve it for doing this anyway.

So he pushes her to the ground, hard, and takes off at a sprint. ]

[ Oh, it definitely hurts — but whether it's her Scythian biology or the toxin in her blood or just that part of her deep down that lives for a fight, she only seems invigorated by the pain, her bloodshot eyes bright and sharp. Every muscle in her body is coiled tight, just waiting for him to yield even an inch — like a rabid dog on a leash. He has to try something, sooner or later. She knows it. They both know it.

The noise she makes when he shoves her down is almost a bark of a laugh — like she's amused, even charmed by the brutal efficiency of such simple tactic. It buys him a head start while she pushes herself to her feet, snatching her knife back up and bursting into a sprint behind him. Nothing like the thrill of a chase. Earning a kill always makes it more satisfying, and Scythians were hunters long before they were mercenaries.

Rex has the advantage of a longer stride, but Andy, unencumbered by any armor, is light on her feet. A single misstep could be fatal. As she chases after him relentlessly, she calls out mockingly at his back: ]

This your idea of foreplay, Rex? You're such a fucking tease.

[ Rex doesn't grace that with a response, even as he's gritting his teeth, jaw hurting with it. Whatever's possessed his Andy, he hates that it keeps on using her voice. He scrambles down the hall, boots squeaking against the newly-cleaned floors, keen hearing picking up on rustles and voices of people who are absolutely aware there's an intruder in their midst. Good, Rex thinks grimly. They can distract Andy, and he can get answers out of them. He's more afraid of Andy on the offensive than he is of a dozen imps. He knows he can fight a dozen imps. Andy...

Andy will lay them low as well, he's sure. As he sees one imp turn the corner, shoulders stiff and neck held rigid, he can practically see the wideness of their eyes through the helmet. Good. He can use that. With that said and done, he quickens his pace.

He's never been as quick as Andy, but he'll give it his damnedest. ]

[ It's a diversion that works, at least. Whatever toxin flows through her veins now, driving that violent instinct — it doesn't seem to prefer any one target over another. Maybe she was having fun one-on-one with Rex, but the bloodthirst isn't picky. As soon as that first Imp appears around the corner, she veers off from her dodged pursuit of Rex, launching herself at this fresh meat without even missing a step.

He barely gets a chance to utter a strangled little sound before she's crashing into him, vicious and relentless — a terror with only a knife in her hand, that mean edge peeling open armor to get at the soft flesh beneath. His screaming is muffled by his helmet.

And there's more where that came from. Other guards, following behind. They should keep her busy — for a short while, at least. ]

[ It doesn't... not affect Rex, seeing that. All of them can get vicious in battle, if earned, and while the Imps have earned it, not all of them know what they're doing - many are victims of the machine that they cannot comprehend. Usually when they make it hurt, it's a fair fight. Not like this, Andy like some wild bird carefully picking through the shell of a nut or seed to get to the tender flesh beneath, filled with just as much instinct.

Rex grabs at one of the guards and puts him in a headlock. ]

Where's the antidote? [ He barks. ]

W-what?

Antidote! Where is it! Tell me quickly, now, because she'll get to you before she gets to me.

[ A human shield. Not a fair tactic, but a useful one. The guard stutters and stammers his way through directions (in another wing, not so far from here, no doubt filled with all sorts of nasty things that their scientists have cooked up) and Rex pushes him to the ground shortly thereafter, because he said he wasn't going to use him as a human shield if he was given answers, not that he was going to help him. ]

Good luck, [ he says gruffly, sprinting further ahead to the next door. It needs clearance. Rex, being the genius that he is, punches the keypad. To his credit, rattling his fist among the wires at least makes the door open a smidgen, wide enough for him to get through -- but only if he sheds his armour.

So he does. ]

[ It's a few minutes before Andy emerges from the adjacent hallway. Long enough for Rex's human shield to make his getaway. Long enough for Rex himself to escape through the sliver of an opening left by the broken door. Her eyes trail over to the sparking keypad, then down to the abandoned armor. Her mouth curves up again, slow and mean. Coming up to the door, she casually nudges his helmet with her boot, pushing it back and forth a little before kicking it out of the way.

Her hand leaves a bloody smear when she grips the side of the door, gauging that small space. She never wears armor herself, and she's a good deal slighter than Rex — she just has to duck her head to pass through to the other side. ]

You can't play coy with me forever. We'll run out of Imps, eventually. [ She calls out mildly, those bloodshot eyes drifting around as she searches for signs of her quarry. ] I told you, remember? I'd fight an entire army just to have my way —

[ Suddenly, she stops. Coughs. Violently. Specks of blood fleck the ground in front of her. Oh.

Maybe there was a reason the Empire hadn't released armies of troopers pumped full of whatever poison she'd inhaled. ]

Andy!

[ He wants to rush to her side. At another time, he would, help prop her up, get her seated by the wall, tell her to rest. He can't risk it now. She'd gut him like a fish, especially after he's stripped out of his armour. For the first time today, they're on a level playing field, and when it comes to Andy? Rex isn't ashamed to admit that he needs the handicap.

So once he sees that Andy's busy, he turns his back to her (against his better judgement) and starts rifling through the conservator, cursing underneath his breath as he realizes that he can't simply toss aside the unrelated vials. God only knows what those will do. Near the back, he reaches in to find something that looks like it ought to be the antidote, just based on context clues alone.

Not a great start, but better than what he's got now. ]

You just wait. We'll get this sorted.

[ She lifts her arm to wipe the blood from her mouth, smearing it across her lips and her cheek as she eyes him across the room. Her grip on her knife tightens again, its hungry blade as red as the smudges on her face. She tilts her head aside slowly, spitting out a bit more blood before she starts making her way towards him. Not rushed. Maybe because of her wheezing breaths, and maybe because she doesn't think there's anywhere he can run now. ]

What are you up to, Rex?

[ Dimly, in the back of her head, she recognizes the concern in his voice. That it's for her. And she loves that about him — that he cares about her, even now, even when the one thing she wants more than anything is a fight to the death. Her love coexists with her bloodthirst. Drives it, even. Makes Rex the quarry she can't let go. ]

What are you trying to pull?

I'm not trying to pull anything, you ungrateful woman, [ Rex snaps back, patience fraying in the face of her continued taunting even as he's afraid she's expiring before his very eyes, the fact that she's so intent on violence while speaking to him like she knows him. ]

I'm trying to save you. Because I'm not going back to that ship without you. I refuse.

[ He shouldn't say that. He doesn't mean it. Or -- he shouldn't mean it. Poe's waiting, and even if they did lose her, he doesn't deserve to lose the both of them. But he can't imagine going back without her, doesn't want to. That's not the right of it. She's supposed to be unstoppable. That's what made this whole thing so difficult.

He whirls around, pressing her up against the wall again to spray what he prays is the antidote right into her face. He hopes like hell it is, because he knows how vulnerable he is like this. The only thing is, she is too, her blood sprayed across the sterile surface of the floor. ]

[ There's a split second where she looks absolutely wild as he shoves her up against the wall — eyes bloodshot, teeth bared, her grip on her knife white-knuckled and every muscle in her body taut with killing intent — but that faceful of aerosol antidote stops her dead. The knife falls from her hand and clatters to the floor as she starts to violently cough — so hard that the force of it would have her doubled over if not for his arm holding her back. Her eyes water as if purging themselves, saline streaking down her cheeks as she wheezes out a few pained breaths. Unconsciously, she reaches out for something to steady herself, snagging a tight fistful of his clothes and digging her fingers in as she rides it out.

It seems like an eternity before the tension finally ebbs from her body. Her grip on him goes slack, her head falling back against the wall behind her as she breathes, slow and unsteady. For a long while, she doesn't say anything at all. She just watches him from under half-lowered eyelashes, trying to get her breathing to even out.

Finally, in a rough rasp just tinged with her old wryness: ]

Stubborn bastard.

[ Rex, of course, doesn't let go of her. He keeps her pressed up against the wall, forearm digging into her chest, knuckles still white where he's clutching onto the antidote for dear life. It feels a little wrong - he should be helping her when she's succumbing to something that feels so violent, so contrary to everything he knows about her, the way she should be like, how invincible she's always seemed - but he's no fool.

He doesn't let relief sink in yet. He won't until they're well and truly in the clear. Not if she confirms that she's fine. Not if they get out of here. And not if they get on the ship. No, he'll only relax days from now, when he knows for a fact that it's not lingering in her system, that it hasn't done anything worse.

But for now, he wants the single success. ]

You with me again, Andy?

[ Andy isn't thinking about days from now — the possibility of lingering effects, damage that her Scythian biology might not be able to just shake off. Her thoughts still seem a little sluggish, as if her mind had suddenly been forced out of hyperdrive, everything abruptly slowed down as reality sinks back in. Vaguely, she's aware that there's a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth. Her ribs fucking ache from the force of her coughing fit. She's exhausted. It's his arm holding her up more than her own two legs.

But then she hears his voice, and the corner of her lips curves upward just so.

That's their Rex. A seasoned soldier — too good at what he does to give in to the temptation of relief until he's sure. Until he hears her answer. ]

...Afraid so, Captain. [ There's still a strained rasp to her voice, but she isn't actively trying to tear his throat out, so it seems like an honest reply, despite her wryness. ] But give me a minute to catch my breath and I'll chase you around the base again, if you want.

It's not funny, [ Rex snaps. This is how they are, isn't it? They joke under pressure. They always joke under pressure. Others may not see it as jokes - they're admittedly a little flat in their delivery - but that's what they are nonetheless, toying with each other in the midst of battle. This is different. ]

We don't know what that stuff could have done to you. Might still be doing to you.

[ But sometimes -- sometimes, the jokes don't work anymore. And it's at times like these, when someone who ought to be functionally immortal suddenly isn't. He eases off on her a little bit, pressure on her chest lessening until he finally relents entirely, hand slipping down her arm to press against the inside of her wrist. ]

Let's not do that again.

Rex / Andy / Poe Freelance Heroes AU

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