Bang.

An inferno spread from her chest, violent enough to force her to the ground. It spread through her veins, thundering beneath her skin, leaving her breathless. Shit. Hundreds of electric impulses bombarded her nerves, contouring her body into impossible positions. Then, as quickly as the pain had appeared, it ceded, swallowed by the sudden onset of adrenaline.

The shadow who shot her, towered over her, studying her. "I'm doing you a kindness, Agent Bell," she said. It was the same voice from the recording in Isobel's office. The blonde cocked her gun. "I wish you had let it go."

Click . The gun jammed. Click. Click. Click. Her would-be (and still could be) assassin cursed beneath her breath, and Maggie realized then that this wasn't a great conspiracy. There was nobody pulling her strings: She was working alone. A desperate attempt to save herself from being uncovered as a corrupt member of the bureau.

Had it not been for her insatiable hunger for air, Maggie would've laughed. She would've thought an assassination attempt would've been planned to detail to ensure its success. Especially one as high-stakes as this. A lot of powerful people counted on her.

Dupont had gotten one thing right, though. Attacking her when she was investigating a string of shootings downtown was smart. It was easy to pin on someone else. Wrong place, wrong time. Thinking back, there was no doubt in her mind that the corrupted agent had orchestrated the tip. And caused the distraction that had sent OA running half a mile away. And lured Maggie into a back alley, hidden away from witnesses and cameras. Not too bad of a plan for something thrown together in the span of three hours, just awful execution.

"Fuck ." Dupont knew she was running out of time. OA must've heard the shot. It wouldn't take him more than a few minutes to locate her. "Why do you have to be so damn difficult? Why couldn't you have looked the other way? Fuck. Fuck." She began pacing. "At least you didn't tell anyone."

Maggie feigned surprise. She knew Dupont - or her co-conspirators - had tapped her phone soon after she requested those files. That was why she had kept OA completely in the dark. No need to get him involved yet. She couldn't protect him. Still, she couldn't let Dupont know that she knew of their surveillance. Then she might catch onto how she'd slipped a note to Isobel two weeks back.

"Maggie?" OA was nearing them.

Something flashed in Dupont's eyes, and Maggie knew that for a moment, she had considered taking them both out. The woman shook her head, realizing she was out-gunned. Instead, she adjusted her grip on the gun and knelt down, grabbing Maggie's collar with her free hand. Twice she slammed it into her nose, causing a sickly crack.

Seconds later, Dupont shoved her headfirst into the snow. For the first time in her life, Maggie didn't put up a fight. Instead, she let her eyelids fell shut, sinking into the cold. With some luck, she'd leave her alone, believing her unconscious and soon to die.

"Maggie!?" OA was getting closer.

Whether it was OA or her act, the sounds of Dupont's footsteps receding echoed through the alley. She was gone.

With a last rush of adrenaline, Maggie forced her eyes open again and slid her hand into her back pocket.

There were few things as ruthless as the freezing cold. It took and it took, slowly dimming every sense. Normally fluid movements grew stiff and graceless, and it cost her several seconds to grab her burner.

Autocorrect had its problems, but at least it changed "dypomt" to "dupont", and she sent the message to the only number in her contact list. Isobel would make sense of it. This was a targeted attack, not an accident.

She took a deep breath to steady herself, her breath vaporizing once it met the air. For a second, she was brought back to the winters of her childhood, where she'd pretend to be a dragon, her icy breaths her smoke.

She missed that, she realized. Not her childhood, but those carefree moments not defined by heartache and regret. Moments where she didn't lay in red snow, watching the world fade around her. Moments where she wasn't dying.

Bang.

The absence of further ruckus scared him more than the gunshot itself. Maggie's voice should be tickling in over the line, dutily reporting a downed suspect. Alternatively, there should be a second gunshot, letting him know that she was firing back.

"Maggie?" He tried, hoping she'd speak into her earpiece and curb his anxiety.

Instead, there was silence. Seconds passed, and no voice joined him on the line. Furthermore, he grew aware of how deafening the quiet surrounding him had become. The earlier bird chatter had ceased, stunned by a horrible secret. It was as if the Earth herself had stopped rotating in silent grief.

Something was wrong.

OA couldn't remember that he had started running, but he found himself turning a corner, hollering her name. You're being dramatic. He could feel her rolling her eyes at him, telling him she had it under control. I can handle myself, you know? She was a good shot, after all. Maggie rarely needed more than one well-placed shot to take down a suspect, and she might just need a moment to catch her breath before answering.

She was fine. She had to be.

His own reassurance didn't hold much weight, though. The silence still felt too solemn, too heavy.

Everything around him was a blur, yet he willed himself to move faster, almost crashing into a pedestrian. He didn't even mutter a sorry, turning another corner. How far had he run? They couldn't have gotten separated this far, right?

"Maggie?"

Nothing. Not over the comms, no 'I'm over here'.

Something's wrong. Trying to locate her based on a single gunshot was more challenging than he had anticipated; Another corner, and he hit a dead-end. Where the hell was she? He needed to find her. Splitting up had been a horrible idea. Something's wrong. He should've never suggested it. Turning another corner, he wondered if he'd somehow already passed her. Something's wr-

He halted, mid-thought. Maggie.

She laid curled up on the ground, her fist red and resting against her heaving chest. No.

He snapped out of his trance: "Agent down at my location. GSW to the chest. Heavy bleeding." What kind of shooter used armor-piercing bullets? "I need an ambulance now ."

Maggie kept her eyes closed as he fell down next to her, but flinched back once he turned her face towards him. He almost did as well, inhaling at the sight: Someone had broken her. nose. Someone had hurt her, not out of necessity or fear, but because they wanted to.

"Maggie, hey, it's okay, it's me," he reassured her, one hand gently cupping her good jaw, the other placed on top of hers. It turned red in seconds. There's too much blood. "OA," he clarified, realizing the daze she must be in. "It's safe. I'm here."

"OA?" her eyes fluttered open, brown gaze meeting him. She attempted a smile, the same reassuring one she always used when he was fretting over something. Then she grimaced. "Cold…."

Of course. "Let's fix that," he only let go long enough to remove her vest, wrapping his jacket tightly around her in its place instead. Then he moved her onto his lap and away from the ground. God, she was freezing. "You're doing good, Maggie," he lied. "You'll be warm in no time."

"Hu…" It wasn't even a whimper, drowned out by shaky breaths.

Hurts. He felt a familiar burning in his chest, the same one he'd felt when he'd witnessed his team losing their heads in Iraq, knowing it should've been him. "I know," he said, trying to give her a smile he meant to be reassuring, "I know, but you're gonna be okay Mags." He brushed away the tears that had spilled from her left eye, never breaking their eye contact. "Everything will be alright, and you will feel better soon."

She leaned into his touch, and he hoped it gave her some semblance of comfort. For a few beats, he let his forehead come to rest against hers, matching their breaths. I got you. You're safe. Stay with me. Words unspoken, but still communicated.

"You're going to be okay, Maggie," he murmured. "I promise, okay?"

"M'kay." She left a streak of red as she sunk away from his head and into his chest, nuzzling as close as she could muster. "Hm."

"I'd never lie to you," he continued, echoing a conversation from years ago.

Her eyes fell shut. "Mhm."

"Hey, no-no," he drummed his fingers against her good jaw, "You gotta keep your eyes open, Maggie."

He could tell it took all her strength, but she obliged. If only for his sake, she forced them open.

"That's my girl," he smiled. Despite the circumstances, she never ceased to amaze him. "You got this, partner."

The smallest tug at the corners of her lips let him know she heard him.

"You know, after the docs fix you up, I'll teach you my secret chili recipe." The one she loved so much. He brushed his thumb against her cheek, willing her to stay awake. "Doesn't that sound nice?"

She stayed quiet, still watching him.

"I'm serious," he said, dismissing her disbelief. Though he liked teasing her about it, he wasn't planning on keeping the recipe from her forever. "You're family, after all." His partner, his best friend. "And I love you," he added, voice quieter. "So just a little longer, okay?" A little longer and everything would be okay. "Hang on a little longer."

Damn it, he was crying.

"I will even watch Pretty Woman with you," he chuckled. She'd made it her personal mission ever since she found out he had never watched it. "Doesn't that sound…"

She didn't react. When was the last time she'd blinked?

His voice dropped: "...Maggie?"

Her gaze stayed fixed, and he could no longer feel her breaths against his palm.

"Maggie?" He shifted his fingers, pressing them against her neck. There was no rhythmic thump-thump-thump. Only silence which persevered as the seconds passed. "No, no, no, Maggie. No, c'mon."

He laid her down, keeping his jacket beneath her to shield her from the cold ground. Then, he placed his hands on her chest, mustering all his strength to become her heart.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5." Keep counting 'till 30. Crack. "6, 7, 8, 9, 10." How could such a small body hold so much blood? "11, 12, 13-" 14, 15, he continued mentally. He needed to save his breath. 16, 17, 18, 19, 20. Another rib cracked, and he almost gagged on the bile tickling the back of his throat. 21, 22, 23, 24, 25. Why wasn't this working? "Wake up, Maggie. Please ," his voice faltered. 26, 27, 28, 29, 30.

He moved swiftly to place his mouth against hers and gave two breaths. She tasted like blood.

OA sacrificed a second to rest his forehead against hers, checking to see if he could feel her breath: He couldn't. "C'mon, stay," he whispered against her, voice so frayed he doubted she'd be able to make out his words. "Please."

Nothing.

Back to her chest. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6…..

By the time the paramedics pried her away from him, he'd lost count of how many sets he'd done. Hell, he hadn't even noticed their arrival.

"Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

"You did good," a kind voice told him. And despite his best efforts, he couldn't find enough strength to rise from the ground. The exhaustion was all-consuming. "Stay here, your team will be here in a minute, okay?"

She's my team, I'm staying with her. His heaves for air drowned out his voice, and he'd never felt as betrayed by his own body. She needed him with her. However, before he had the chance to say any of that, the flashes of red and blue disappeared, and the sound of sirens grew faint.

They'd left him behind. The sound of silence felt even heavier now, and he didn't think he'd ever felt as lonely, as powerless, as he did at that moment.