Title: Slipping
Disclaimer: I do not own Chaos.
A/N: More of the same! sockie1000 is very nice to beta all these for me :) This one has a bit more ambiguous and angsty slant on h/c.
Summary: It's slipping away.
-o-
Michael swears. When the feed died, he'd known it was bad, but he hadn't known how bad. He had hoped, of course...
The ODS isn't big into hope, though.
And this is why.
Billy is right where Michael left him, at the drop site. But the mark is long gone, and Billy's not leaning up against the wall or poking curiously by the nearby trashbins in total boredom.
No, Billy's sprawled on the ground.
Moving fast, he makes it to Billy's side, going to the ground while trying his best not to panic.
For his part, Billy's eyes are open, and he's panting, chest rising and falling quickly as the crimson stain spreads steadily across his chest.
Michael swallows hard, shrugging out of his jacket and starting to ball it up as he presses it down on the gunshot wound to Billy's chest. "Hey," he says. "What happened?"
Billy's eyes dart jerkily over to him, and it seems to take the Scot a moment to focus. "I...," he begins, but then chokes and coughs, blood seeping between his teeth. He shudders. "I'm slipping."
Michael presses hard, working his phone out of his pocket with his other hand. "What?"
Billy whimpers, trying to squirm away from Michael's touch, but Michael refuses to yield. "Thought I could...talk them out of it," Billy says haltingly as he starts to tremble in earnest.
Michael texts the 911 signal to Casey with one hand, glancing nervously back toward Billy. "They're ruthless criminals, Billy," Michael tells him. "We knew going in that we might be compromised before we even made contact."
Billy gasps a little, fresh blood leaking out of his mouth. "Just needed a little...finesse," he says.
"No, it needed a better plan," Michael tells him, reading Casey's quick reply: ambu in 10. He looks to Billy again, who looks terrifyingly pale on the dark cement, the blood starting to puddle on the ground. His stomach churns, and he grits his teeth. "You're not the one who's slipping, Billy. It's just as much my fault."
Because he hadn't come up with something better. Because he'd sent Billy in with nothing more than his wits and charming facade. Because he'd spread his men too thin and taken a risky mission with no backup contingencies. Because he's known this could happen from the very start and didn't do anything to stop it.
"You trusted...me," Billy says, eyes starting to blink heavily.
Michael jostles him. "And you trusted me," he says, a little louder now, using his other hand to reach down and tap Billy's cheek.
Billy's head lolls a bit, his eyes going distant.
"Hey," Michael says, gripping Billy's chin. "Stay with me."
But Billy's slipping again, only this time further away from Michael. Further away all together.
"Billy," he says again, voice almost breaking on the name. "Stay with me. Just a little longer now."
But Billy's eyes drift shut and his body shudders even as the heartbeat beneath Michael clenched hand starts to slip and fade.
It's slipping away, Michael knows. It has been since the start of the mission, for years before that. It slips away a little more each mission when they're just not as sharp, just not as quick, just not as good. It's imperceptible one mission at a time, but after all these years, Michael wonders if they've been in the game too long.
If this is the time it costs them everything.
Michael doesn't know, and he's not ready to find out. So he holds on, arms rigid and throat tight, feeling the sluggish heartbeat stutter as he refuses to let go.
