Get up.

The words were muffled in his ears, cottoned out by the lack of blood to his brain. Everything hurt and felt numb at the same time, and he couldn't be sure where his body started and where it ended. The only thing that was real was the ground beneath him, and even if that was starting to spin out of his control.

Get up!

In trying to get a look of his surroundings, Whiskey found his eye "glued" shut with something thick and tacky. Furious blinking finally rid his lashes of the stuff; his best guess was blood, given how much the smell filled his nostrils.

"About time, you dunderhead. We're gonna be late for our dance."

His helmet spikes scraped against rock as he turned his head and found his star stooping nearby, a cocky grin on her face and a few remaining wisps of smoke escaping from the end of her gun barrel.

"You hate dancing..." he muttered, and felt more tackiness around his lips. He must have been out a while for the blood to already be dry.

"I can make an exception, just this once. But you gotta get off your ass first."

Some noise in the far distance stole her attention away, and that smile was quickly replaced with a worried furrowing of her brow.

"Like now, old man. We don't have a lot of time."

"Just... gimme a sec." As he turned his gaze towards the darkening red sky overhead, he tried to recall the simple things. Name: Whiskey Tango Foxtrot. Call sign: RDC-WF02-1221. Currently member of the Rogues.

What was he doing before he woke up?

... explosion. Must have been too close for him to get out of the way. Before that, he'd been running... from something? Or was it towards the shuttle? ... they had come down in a shuttle, right?

"You done trying to remember how your legs work?"

Her voice drew him back into the present, and he rolled onto his side. There would be time later to recall everything once they got out of here.

Pushing himself up onto his knees then his feet hurt more than he'd ever felt before, and he looked down to find bone jutting out of skin on both his arm and upper thigh. There was something fascinating about seeing what should remain inside suddenly exposed to air, but he knew if he continued to stare at his new "additions," shock would take him over and send him spiraling towards the ground again.

So he swallowed back on his nausea, cradled his broken arm against his chest, and used his rifle as a makeshift crutch to keep his weight off his splintered leg.

"You got it?" She whispered at his side, offering an arm for him to lean on. But he knew better and drew away. She wasn't meant to be stained with his blood. Protector. Shield bearer. Not the warrior she proclaimed herself to be. Tough as nails, he would admit, but her dirty work had never involved ending a day with veins in her teeth.

"I got this. You called the others?" He coughed and spat a clot of blood onto the ground, and the renewed taste of blood on his mouth made him cough even more.

"They should be here in a minute or two. Hope you can stay awake that long, cuz I'm not hauling your ass up that gangplank."

"Heh, are you trying to sweet talk me?" The beginnings of a chuckle were stifled behind fresh pain in his chest, and another cough brought up more blood. His best guess was that a few ribs were broken, and that meant he was going to be laid up in bed for at least a few weeks before he could head back out to the frontlines.

The idea of sitting there and doing nothing but watching bad shows and eating crappy food - none of the other Rogues were worth their weight in salt when it came to cooking - roused a growl in the back of his throat, tainted with the fading taste of blood. With any luck, maybe that Jennerit doctor could do something with that brain of hers and help speed up his recovery.

A deep rumbling shook the ground beneath him, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He tried to roll with it, to spare his limbs any further injury, but there was only so much he could do. Fresh, hot pain seared up the length of his leg, and he grimaced against it, spittle and blood sticking to the back of his teeth.

Earthquake... he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt one of those. Where were they...?

"I didn't figure you to be so clumsy. Should I expect my feet to be stepped on tonight?"

Anger boiled within him - was this really the time to joke? - but he was familiar with her methods of keeping them on the straight and narrow with her humour. Panicking would make her lose her head and bring them closer to death, and seeing her with tears on her eyes wasn't how he wanted to remember her right before the end. So he decided to play along instead to keep the mood light and help him forget about his pain.

"Get a few of those Screwdrivers in me, and I'll be good to go."

"Screwdrivers?" She stared up at him in disbelief as he pulled himself to his feet once more. "You're into girly drinks now?"

"I picked something I thought we could share, and I know how much of a lightweight you are." He knew that insult would earn him a hit to the back of the head, but it never came.

"Oh, okay, smartass. We'll see how much you can put back after I've punched your teeth out."

There it was, that life to her voice that made everything else seem unimportant. It put vigor in his step and a fluttering behind his ribs that told him everything was going to be okay. They just needed to get on the Favour, and it would all sort itself out.

Plus he'd have more than a few wicked scars to show off and add more "monster" to his appearance. Always looking for the silver linings in the storm clouds.

The walk to the port took a little longer than expected, and it was there that he realized where they were. Tempest. The silhouettes of the angular buildings, the light screeching of bats overhead as the ground shook once more, the hot white darts of lightning across blood-red skies...

Rendain. They were here to kill Rendain.

... no, that was weeks ago. The Jennerit were still having problems with dissidents, those who still clung to Rendain's ideals and had been ravenous in their efforts to keep the Battleborn off Tempest. But without their leader in power, they were disorganized at best, and it had been easy to gain ground.

... they'd been in the town square. Eerily quiet. Then Jennerit and Thrall stormed them out of the shadows...

"You know you don't have to be alone in this, right?" A gentle touch on his shoulder had him recoiling, shaking him from his thoughts. The worried look on her face was touching. Heartwarming, even. But that was where it had to stop.

"Always worked this out by myself. Why should this be any different?" He sat with a grunt on a section of low wall that hadn't yet crumbled from whatever fight had taken place here.

"Cuz you're different now. Or didn't you notice?"

Her smile was gentle, made him feel even filthier for being in its presence. How he would have liked to touch that cheek and feel the warmth radiate from it. So close, yet he could never bring himself to be so soft, not with her of all people. She'd made that abundantly clear the very first time they-

"Hey, stay with me."

He caught himself slipping from the edge of his perch and righted himself again. How much longer was he going to have to wait? At this rate, he'd pass out again before they got here.

"... I'm not that different," he replied weakly, recalling her earlier question. "You tell me where to point my gun, I fill whatever's in front of me with bullets..."

"Don't bulls**t me. On the ship. Being around the others."

He growled again; he didn't want admit that being around them, having something of a normal life with them had... dulled his edge somewhat. made him more approachable, easier to talk to.

"Having your own "man and his dog" kinda story..."

Cuddles. That wrinkled-faced whining mess. What he wouldn't give to feel the pooch's slobber on his cheek right about now, watching his tail stump and butt wiggle in excitement...

"See? You do miss him. You're attached to the little bugger."

"... sorry for not asking first," he mumbled, suddenly touched with an ounce of guilt.

"About the dog?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, maybe I was miffed at first." She took a seat on the veritable pile of rocks beside him, her legs swinging back and forth while they waited. "But I wasn't about to say no to a good thing. I see the way you spoil him. You're paying it forward by giving him a good home."

Home. His place amongst the Rogues had become that some time ago, but he still wished he could have pinpointed the exact moment. Was it that first big dinner he'd made for everyone? Spraying Orendi down after a particularly messy battle against a horde of Varelsi? Or was it listening to one of Shayne's stories they'd written for the next book club meeting?

"Looks like our ride's here. Don't you worry, I'm gonna be with you every step of the way."

Whiskey had been distracted from the hum and sudden warm air from overhead as a ship descended from between the thick red clouds. He recognized it instantly as belonging to the teenager, all sleek with its name painted haphazardly on the side. The landing was proving to be difficult in the lightning storm, but the kid seemed to be holding their own. In another few years, they were going to be one of the best pilots amongst the Rogues.

The door popped open and the kid was out the door before the engines even started to grow cold. Worry lined their face, and others poured out behind them. Some he didn't recognize - people dressed in white carrying medical kits - but he did spot the tall, lanky Roa among them. Probably as backup in case this extraction proved to be more difficult that they expected.

"You look like hell, old man." Shayne kneeled before him, trying their best not to look at all of his wounds.

"Feel like it too," he groaned and collapsed against their small frame, the last of his energy drained. "I hope your guys've got some decent drugs on 'em. You sure you're good, R-"

Gone. She wasn't sitting on the wall or directing the crowd slowly gathering around them.

"Reyna...?" His eye grew wide with fear as his gaze searched the immediate vicinity, but found nothing of her telltale hair or worn leather jacket. Maybe she was already on the ship?

"Shayne...? Where's R-"

"We gotta go, old man. Storm's picking up, and I don't wanna be trapped down here longer than we need to be. Took me a hell of a time to find you, and I don't want it to be for nothing. Now lie down and let them get you on that gurney."

Without another word, they nodded to one of the staff, who slipped a needle into his arm and emptied the contents of the syringe into his blood stream. It didn't take long for him to start slipping away, and could only watch as everything spun around him. His body felt weightless as they carried him onto the ship, and he was greeted to the scent of clean air and sanitary equipment instead of the smoke and burning he'd been inhaling for who knew how long.

"Said I was staying right here, didn't I?"

That muffled voice in his ears again, but his eyelids were too heavy to open. His fingers twitched and curled for the warmth he wished was there.

"You got me with you. Just don't let go, okay? You promised you'd sweep me off my feet."

"Heh... shut up..."

"You're gonna have to tell him eventually, Shayne." Pendles flicked lever after lever until they all turned green, and started up the engines.

"I don't think now's the time. He's lost a lot of blood." The teenager thumbed away an errant tear from the corner of their eye.

"The longer you wait, the harder it'll be to pull him out of that-"

"You think I don't know, Pendles?! You think I wouldn't give everything I have to bring her back!?" One errant tear became more until their face was flooded with them. Someone their age shouldn't have had to go through something like this.

"We all would," the Roa replied quietly. "But living in a delusion's not gonna change anything."

The ship was finally back in the clouds again, and still ascending into the dark emptiness of space.

"... I'll talk to him when I think he's ready. Just give him this for a little while."