Chapter Text
[Redacted], Late September, 2020
“Where is she!? Sabina! Sabina!!” Elena’s voice is ragged, desperation sinking in full force. The air’s heavy with smoke and her lungs burn, eye stinging as she stares into the burning warehouse.
“Elena, we need to go. Elena. Elena. Elena.” Jane calls her name desperately as she restrains her, dragging her up from the cold asphalt that tears into her knees. If she thinks too hard about it, she can feel each individual stone, embedding their way into her skin that’s already marred with bruises and stinging cuts.
“We can’t, we can’t.” Elena shudders out a breath, wrenching her arm out of Jane’s grip. Something warm drips down her face and her arm burns, but she can’t leave, can’t turn away. “We can’t leave her. Please, Jane. Please.”
Jane pulls her away, arms locked around her shoulders, and Elena can feel her chest heave as she all but falls into her. Bosley’s there, not even attempting to hide the fear on her face, as they stare into the flames together.
The roof caves in, sending a shower of sparks and ashes into the air.
Elena caves it with it. She dissolves, screams, falls.
She never stops falling.
--
New York, February 3, 2021
His hands look soft, not even a single callous, and Elena can tell he keeps a regimented skin care routine. Most likely something from his girlfriend’s line. Judging from Elena’s research, she’s an influencer on Instagram who just hit 60k followers and her products are made in a sweatshop in South Asia, not her basement.
Elena hasn’t had any type of social media account in years.
Lefthanded, but he holds his fork loosely in his right. If Elena had to guess, his nervous tic would be rearranging his hair, judging from the messy curls and faint sweat stains ringing his shirt collar. She wonders what girl he’s going to see next.
The check is placed upside down on the table and Elena sets down her spoon, bowl of soup cold and unfinished in front of her. The tomato spatters have started to dry on the side, reddish crusts forming on the otherwise white ceramic and bread crumbs litter the table.
She excuses herself to the bathroom, slips out the unlocked window of the third stall, and heads to the van a few blocks down. She doesn’t need to wait, she knows it’ll be all over the news tomorrow; Local Philanthropist Dies in Tragic Restaurant Explosion: Gas Leak to Blame.
She wonders if they’ll include the parts about the million dollars of money he embezzled, the fact that he built his condos on historic native land, and the numbers of at least ten other women hidden on his phone. They never do.
The drive back is quiet and by the time they get back to the safehouse, she’s already changed into a sweater and jeans, silky fabric of the dress balled up on the floor of the van. She’ll put it back in the closet, eventually. Or Saint will.
Jane’s waiting for her in the garage, arms crossed, with her signature eyebrow furrow, and something else Elena can’t quite place on shifting across her face like an overflowing stream.
Elena is already imagining the warm shower and nap she’ll take, but she manages a soft smile for Jane, always. “You’re back early. Miss me that much?”
“Did you see my call?”
“No, why?” She digs her phone out of her pocket, swiping through the screen. The overhead lights buzz above them, dowsing them in a harsh, yellow glare.
Jane. K: 2 Missed Calls
Jane. K: 1 Voicemail
Bosley : 1 Missed Call and 3 Messages
“....Jane?”
Jane reaches for her hand, and only then can Elena tell she’s been crying, cheeks flushed and eyes rimmed red, when she steps out of the shadows. “Elena...they found her. They found Sabina.”
--
California, February 10, 2021
She doesn’t get why they have to wait so long. It’s been seven days since they found her, and she’s spent all of them pacing around the safehouse, counting down the hours until they can see her.
They were supposed to go two days ago. But Jane’s phone had chimed the night before and Elena had climbed across the bed to read the incoming text message from Saint, leaning into Jane’s chest. It looked long and her heart sank.
E & J- Need to reschedule your visit tomorrow. I think we need to give her a few more days to adjust. Still refusing medications and very anxious. Bosley’s been in and out, so she can tell you more. A lot to work through, but the doctors are doing their best. I’ll keep you updated. Peace.
It’s not fair. But then again, none of it has been.
Jane’s been running mile after mile and Bosley’s throwing herself into making preparations for whatever happens next. Elena’s just been staying up late, making halfhearted attempts to finish reports, and trying not to let her thoughts swirl so loudly around in her head.
The what-ifs hang over their heads, along with unspoken worries that morph into quiet glances and stares that drift far off into the distance.
The next text came early in the morning, waking them both up as they reached for their phones, the sun barely peeking through the blinds.
You should come now. Let me know when you get this.
--
It’s a 15 minute drive to the hospital and Elena can’t stop thinking.
She wonders if Jane can hear her thoughts, because she rubs her thumb reassuringly across her wrist. Her eyes are the only give-away, a little wider and more steeled than normal.
Jane’s hand is warm in hers, and Elena’s is already shaking, enough that she wants to shove it back into her pocket. She knows Jane won’t let her though, because she’ll just pick at the dry skin on her fingers till it bleeds. The cuffs on her shirts are stained with little flecks of rusted red, almost invisible unless you looked hard enough.
They’ve been debriefed, sat down, and then explained to again. Broken ribs, sprained wrist, scrapes and bruises, and a lingering cough that would need to be monitored.
Elena had watched Bosley’s eyes turn dark with the next sentence. She’d need withdrawal, because of the drugs they suspect she’d been on. A mix of a few things. It would be hard, but she’d been with Sabina the first time she went through it, and they both made it out okay.
“I...I can’t make any promises, though,” Bosley had added, eyes apologetic.
Jane had walked out quietly after that, but Elena stayed long enough to hear sedation , never the same , and the unspoken, silent sadness that filled the room after the words stopped coming.
--
“She’s not herself.”
“We know,” Jane says, shifting a glance over to Elena, who’s absentmindedly tracing the outline of her wings.
“They got her to take some meds this morning, so she’s been doing a little better.”
“That’s good,” Elena says, because what else can she say. What else should she say?
They take a deep breath together, and for a second, just a split second, because she always fucking forgets, Elena waits for Sabina’s hand on hers, so they can start their pre-mission handshake.
She grabs Jane’s hand tighter instead, enough to feel her pulse underneath her thumb, to know that at least one of them is alive.
Bosley opens the door and when Elena’s eyes adjust to the fluorescent lighting, she looks up and-- shit.
--
London, January 21, 2020
“Is that her?” Elena asks tentatively, pulling her hair back into a ponytail as sweat still clings to the back of her neck.
Bosley nods. “We think so.”
They’re hovered around the computer screen, gear from the mission they just returned from strewn across the room. They’re still wearing their combat gear and their boots sound heavy against the wooden floorboards. Elena squints at the screen, a grainy image of a convenience store where two figures stand around the register.
One of them looks pointedly towards the camera and only when they step forward can Elena tell it’s Sabina. Her hair’s been shaved down to a buzz cut and there’s a smattering of bruise across her chest, so thin that Elena can see her collarbones jutting out.
“How can you tell?” Jane asks, leaning in closer with her hand warm on Elena’s back. They know it’s her. They know it. But still.
Bosley pauses the video, fingers brushing across the screen. “Tattoos.” She zooms in and they see them, the eye on her arm that peeks out from her ragged jacket sleeve and the Angel wings on her neck.
Elena has to put her hand over her mouth so she doesn’t scream, doesn’t cry.
The video ends, the screen goes black.
--
[Redacted] Medical Center, February 10, 2021
Her hair’s longer, tangled brown waves just reaching her shoulders. She turns to look at them, green eyes dull, face drawn with a light sheen of sweat on it, and she looks, god, she looks dead. Alive, but not living.
Elena’s lightheaded, ears ringing. Bosley’s saying something, but the only thing she can hear is Sabina saying her name.
“Elena. Jane.”
Her voice is the same, just raspy and worn out, and it’s like it unlocks a part of Elena’s brain she had forgotten about.
She takes a halting step forward, and Jane’s grip is tightening around her arm and Bosley’s telling her to wait, but Sabina’s reaching out for her. Reaching. And her hands, her fucking hands are pulling her in, her fingers clinging to the fabric of Elena’s coat.
Jane leans in, too, and she’s wrapped in hands, fingers grasping on to whatever they have left. They’re holding on tight, almost too tight, but Sabina clings just as hard.
Elena can feel Jane exhale, a sigh of relief warm on the back of her neck. It doesn’t last long, whatever warmth Elena got from it diminished when Sabina cries, softly, like she’s holding it all back and it’s choking her at the same time.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m--” Her nails are digging into Elena’s arms.
Elena can feel Jane tense up, but her voice is steady as she attempts to calm Sabina down. “It’s alright, it’s alright, love.”
Sabina just cries harder.
--
Elena’s jumped out of a plane, killed quite a few people, and joined a top secret lady spy organization.
But she can’t handle this.
All of the excitement and relief she had before is fading, replaced with fear. She’s scared, terrified about what comes next.
It’s been two days since they first saw her and Elena’s quickly realized that things are different. Sabina’s hidden, underneath layers of who knows what. She’s quiet, too quiet, and Elena hasn’t seen her smile even once. She’s numb.
It’s not fair.
Saint and Boz have tried to get her to take more pain meds, but she’s refused everytime. It took Jane and Elena both begging her until she finally took half a dose, after spending two hours with silent tears coursing down her cheeks and the bright white sheets clenched tightly beneath her hands.
Jane’s looked it up, blue on her phone screen illuminating her face in the middle of the night, as she tells Elena all about the symptoms of withdrawal. So Elena knows, when Sabrina’s shaky and sweating and clenching Elena’s hand so tight she loses circulation in her fingers, that it’s the drugs finding their way out.
It’s the drugs that make Sabina restless in the middle of the night, alternating between breathless cries and pleads that go in vain, to silence, with both of them sitting there helpless as Sabina refuses their touch. Elena knows it’s not personal, but still.
They’re quiet most of the time, either Elena or Jane trying too hard to get a conversation going. Saint cycles in and out, with cups of steaming tea and plates of food that go untouched. Bosley comes, on a good day, and Elena watches Jane bite back her jealousy as Sabina lets Boz hug her. It’s hard, for all of them
They watch a lot of TV, just mindless shows that have no plot, no direction. Elena feels like she’s trapped in one of those shows, just waiting for a commercial break.
Jane had left to get them coffee and Sabina woke up from her nap before Jane got back, which led to her sobbing, heart wrenching cries that Elena knew just had to kill her ribs. Jane came back to find Sabina asleep, dried tears on her cheeks, and Elena close to tears herself.
“It’s not fair,” she whispers to Jane late at night, when they’re both curled up on the smallest couch and trying to squeeze in a few minutes of sleep in between the nurses’ checks.
Jane takes a breath before she answers, hand coming up to stroke Elena’s hair. “I know, love. I know.”
--
Sabina comes home a few days later, much to Elena and Jane’s protests.
“Boz, this isn’t a good idea. Have you even—“ Jane trails off in frustration, arms crossed. They’re standing outside Sabina’s room as she naps, worried that she’ll wake up and there’ll be no one there.
Elena knows she’s thinking about the fact that Sabina can barely walk the seven feet to the bathroom. About how it took Jane ten minutes to calm her down yesterday, which led to Sabina eventually shifting away from her touch with an apologetic, soft “sorry” as she turned away, burrowing back into her sheets.
Elena knows she’s thinking about the fact that even if Sabina’s ready, maybe they’re not.
Boz knows it too. “Elena, Jane, I know it’s...a lot. But they’ve cleared her to leave and it’s not like she’s going back to nothing. Saint and I will be there.” She grabs their hands, and for a moment, Elena can tell how much this is draining her, how tiring and hard it is for all of them. “We’ll be okay.”
She lets herself believe it, just for a second.