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The grenade went off, sending him sprawling. With the explosion still ringing slightly in his ears, despite his helmet, he stood. He ached, the exertions of the past few days taking their toll on his body and mind. A group of the enemy, Insurrectionists; he reminded himself, lay scattered. He walked stiffly over to the nearest, least damaged corpse. Yep, they were definitely dead. He found himself tearing up slightly. He shook his head, embarrassed. How long had he been there, on that mission? It could only have been a few days but it felt like weeks had passed. A sound, the whirring of jets met his ears. He was saved. Looking up, he saw 479er’s pelican in the distance. Better late than never he thought and looked down. When he was asked later, he could not say why but he did. Falling to his knees, he picked up the little tabby that stood there, cradling it in his arms, murmuring to it through his tears. The tom could not have been more than 6 months but the shrapnel had not spared it. The left side of its face was slightly bloody; the eye itself was damaged. It was holding its jaw strangely, meaning that it was probably broken. His knowledge of first aid was patchy, but he could not see anything else wrong with it. It purred despite it’s injuries into his grey armour and stomach.
“I-I’m s-sorry, I’m s-so sorry,” He sobbed, unable to stop. He knew that it would never see out of it’s eye again, even if it managed to get the medical attention it needed. He doubted that the medics onboard the mother of invention would either care or have the skill required to save him. Rocking back and forth on his heels, cradling the poor tom, he sobbed, alone in his own little world. He did not hear the pelican arrive, or hear 479er’s call for him to get in. A hand was placed on his shoulder and he looked up. Through the tears and his own exhaustion that blurred his vision, he saw a white angel knelt in front of him.
“Washington, come with me.” The voice was delicate but experienced, he decided in his stupor.
“The cat, please. I-it’s hurt.” Wash felt like a child again, with his mother.
The angel pulled him into a hug, cat and all. He didn’t resist and the tabby purred. It had been too long since he had been hugged and relaxed into the embrace.
“Go to sleep, Agent Washington.” He felt the words rather than heard them.
“But…the cat?” He asked his words slurred as exhaustion began to claim him.
“I’ll look after him.”
“Promise?” His eyes started to close behind his visor.
“I p-promise,” a slight pause, “David.” His name was like a whisper and for the first time in years, he felt safe. And sleep claimed him.
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When she felt his breathing slow into the rhythms of sleep, she laid him back. The pilot called her name and she held up a white armoured hand, three fingers extended. 3 minutes. She looked again at the tabby as it hopped of Washington’s lap. She smiled. She could and would save it. It rubbed it’s side against the gold panels on her thigh.
“You are one fighter of a cat,” she murmured, ruffling it’s ears, as the tabby continued to purr. She hefted the grey and yellow clad agent over her shoulders in a firefighter’s lift, and carried him back to the pelican. A deep bass purr followed her up the ramp. She secured Wash in one of the harnesses. She looked at the almost one-eyed tabby and picked it up, before sitting in the chair opposite the unconscious agent. She strapped them both in, the cat purring even louder. She called to the pilot, “Take us up.”
“Ten-four, Sunrise.”
“You’re going to need an eye patch captain,” she said to the cat, “and a name,” Sunrise paused a moment, stroking his back as he sat in her lap, “How do you like the sound of…” She looked again at the inflamed red eye. “Captain Hook?” It was probably her imagination but he seemed to purr slightly louder. “You’re new name’s Captain Hook then. Welcome to Freelancer.” Over the roar of the engines, she couldn’t hear him but through her hands and thighs, she could feel his purr.