Icarus is stiff, his hands resting light on her, but she doesn't move and he doesn't make her. A small thing for which she is endlessly grateful. She's already taking shallow breaths, trying to minimize the deep-seated ache in her chest, and the less she moves the less she has to think about the gash in her side.

"You said you have a ride coming?" she eventually asks, when she thinks she can get a full sentence out without additional pain. It doesn't quite happen, but she's at least able to stop herself from audibly groaning.

"Yes. Should be here soon." The quiet answer, and Malik understands now why they're in a clearing. It might just be large enough for something small to land in.

"You trust 'em?" she hasn't lifted her head from his shoulder. She knows the moment she moves, his hands will be off her like lightning.

"He's sixth on my list."

That catches her interest. "Sixth?" He has a list?

"First isn't answering, second is dead, third and fourth are separated from their vehicles and can't get through, and fifth was already flying and refuses to land anywhere."

"So, number six picked up. How much does a-" a pause to internally wince "job like that cost? Personal flight in the middle of the apocalypse?"

"Couple hundred."

"Only?" that seems. Low.

"Thousand."

Oh.

"You could buy a whole plane for that much-" she's startled enough that she doesn't focus on short breaths, gritting her teeth as her whole chest complains.

"What good would a plane do me? I need a ride."

She doesn't understand, can't comprehend spending so much on a single service. Wonders how she's even going to get the money to pay him back while supporting her network.

If there even is a network left to support.

Huh. That hadn't quite hit her until just then. They're either going to need her more than ever before, or…she won't have any mechanics left to support. She wonders if the man who'd charged out of the mechanic's shop had been Vaclav's contact.

She's about to further protest the obscene price of a domestic flight – there won't even be any oceans involved – but he tenses, his hands a little heavier on her shoulders. She doesn't say anything, unsure of what he's reacting to.

Adam moves to gently lift her off of him and lean her back against the tree he'd been sitting against. He reaches down and pulls something out of a pocket of his coat, keeping the movement brief. A small frown and a soft rumbled apology as she flinches at the readjustment, the setting down into snow. She hopes there's a first aid kit in the plane – there better be, for what he's paying.

"Should be our ride," he says, stepping into the middle of the clearing and lifting the flashlight he'd pulled from his coat, flicking it on and off into the sky.

That's when she hears the engines, slowing down and a VTOL appears over them. Icarus gets out of the way, moving back to her, reaching down to pick her up.

"He doesn't know who you are. Better keep it that way, if possible," he murmurs into her ear as he lifts her, as she groans at the painful shift.

That explained the coat around her again, then. Hide the phoenix emblazoned on her back, keep her warm. Double purpose. He'd thought ahead.

The plane lands quickly, the side door swinging open, and Icarus carries her in. The door slides shut just as quickly behind them, the pilot already lifting off with the shortest of greetings to the assassin.

"This guy charging per hour or for the job?" Malik asks once she's set down, looking around to see if she can locate a first aid kid. She'd had to bind a cracked rib before, she could do it if she needed to.

"The job." Icarus answers.

"Perfect." She pitches her voice a bit louder so the pilot can hear. "Can we take a quick detour? I dropped something in the chaos."

"How much of a detour?" He's professional, Malik notes with appreciation. Probably hasn't noticed quite how injured she is, though Adam is looking at her in disbelief, she notes.

"Not far. Just the forest. I'll toss you the coordinates." She's doing just that when Icarus actually reaches over and lays a hand on her, stopping the action before she finishes it.

"What could possibly be-"

"That crate I had to toss. If I'm going to pay you back for this-"

"You don't need to pay me back for this." He looks, almost affronted? That's a surprise. She doesn't know quite what to do with that.

"It was mostly for you, but at the rate we're going, I'm going to need most of it. And since I don't actually have a plane anymore, it's now or never."

"Mal-"

"Uh-uh," she finishes handing the pilot the coordinates of her tracker, sitting in the forest, still pinging. "You work for me now, remember? You can't not listen this time." Halfway teasing, falling back to the forest that felt like it had been months ago and not hours.

"You're insane." His other hand reaches to dig into his forehead.

"You've said. I don't even need to get up, you can get it if you're so worried," a soft smile, trying to get the creases in his brows to decrease in just the slightest.

"I'm not worried. If you die, I don't get paid." She almost thinks she's missed something through the haze of pain that's starting to set in, but she realizes then the pilot had been listening, his head tilted back in the slightest. Icarus had noticed.

"Yeah. So do me a favor and get me that first aid kit." She points up at the compartment near the ceiling, and he makes a show of not wanting to before opening the latch and setting the box down next to her.

She opens the box, evaluating what she can use – the cut in her side isn't bleeding heavily, and she thinks the nanoblade that hit her might have been the slightest bit heated for that to be the case. Half-cauterized? The ribs she needs to wrap, and that should at least get her back to Vaclav in one piece.

Malik figures she'll patch herself up after they find her crate, and it's not too long before the pilot starts decelerating, dropping lower and honing in on the target location. She hopes it landed in an open enough area that they can land on it, but luck might not be on their side.

It ends up being the latter - they're directly over a thick part of the forest, and Malik glances out the window in dismay.

"How low can you get us?" she's asking – that box alone had probably been worth at least a million, she'd known. Now? It would be priceless.

"I can stabilize just over the treetops," he's answering, flicking switches and changing the VTOL's flight mode.

Adam stands, going to the cockpit for a moment and looking at the camera views, as well as the pinging tracker's location. "You have a line and a crank?"

"I've got line, but the crank's not strong enough to pick up anything but a human."

Malik would suggest landing nearby and going to get it on foot, but if this was Adam's sixth choice for a pilot, she supposes he doesn't quite trust him that well.

"I'll use the line and pull it up myself, then." Adam strides back out, pushing a lever to open the side door and reaching for a line, attaching it to his combat vest. He glances at her, his expression inscrutable, before diving out.

The sound of the spool of rope spinning clangs loud, and Malik figures he used an aug to land instead of relying on the system's brakes. The line shakes for a moment, stills, and then shakes violently. She'd go look out the door, but she's fairly certain that if she stood she might actually fall over. Malik has the feeling that he wouldn't forgive her if she died from falling out of a plane she wasn't even flying.

His hands appear at the floor a moment later, and he hauls himself in, turning and pulling the rope. "Activate it," he tells the pilot. "I'll help it up."

The crank groans, trying to start up, and Jensen sets his feet wide, hauls up hard. The line spools up, and he sets a pace.

Malik can't help but watch. His arms move fluid, like organic muscles, shifting as he heaves upward, and he has to be using his strength augs, she'd shoved that crate and it had taken a fair amount of leverage and all her weight to get it out of the plane. She'll blame the injuries if she gets caught looking, but his augs are beautiful.

Maybe she should steal his coat more often.

Okay, that was definitely the injuries talking.

Icarus makes a quiet sound as the crate bumps into the floor, and he has to push the line outward to get it past the lip. He's hauling the crate in with a groan, dropping it hard on the floor of the plane and immediately straightening up, not leaning against it. Signals for the door to be closed, and he exhales slow.

Glowers at her. "Happy?"

She can't quite tell if this is still an act or he's actually annoyed with her. Probably both. "Yes, thank you."

She'll check the contents when they get home – she has to deal with her ribs sooner rather than later.

"Can you give me a hand?" she asks softly as the pilot turns them back towards Prague, switching modes and flying higher. Malik keeps the coat over her shoulders, reaching to unzip her flightsuit and inhaling sharp as the movement, lifting her arms, sends a new wave of pain through her.

The adrenaline must have worn off.

"Here, let me," his voice is gruff but his hands are gentle, reaching to pull the suit off her shoulders without jostling her. Such lethal augs touching her so gently, taking such care. A far cry from the screaming hell they'd been in earlier.

His hands remain light, but his face goes stone cold when she lifts the torn tank top under her suit to show the wound in her side. She sees it, but she doesn't know what she could say to make it better.

She has to try, though. "This one barely hurts," she says, reaching for the alcoholic wipes. "This part is gonna be the shitty one."

That didn't seem to help, but she'd almost said 'it's the ribs that are really hurting' and had just barely realized that that would probably make things worse instead of better.

He takes the wipes out of her hand before she can open them, and his shades are on but she can almost just see over them from the angle he's leaning down at. He just tells her a quiet, "Brace yourself," before pressing it to the wound.

She hisses sharp, her hands squeezing to fists, and he works quickly. Cleans it up and puts a wide bandage over it.

"Anything else?" his voice is quiet, low enough so it doesn't carry far.

"Should warp my ribs," she says, exhaling shallow and slow.

He reaches for a bandage, and she holds it against herself, passing him the end as he sets to binding her to keep her ribs in place. She helps him as best she can, sighing in relief once it's done, pulling her flightsuit back on.

"Please tell me there's some painkillers in there," she begs softly, pulling his coat back over her shoulders and looking in the box.

Adam beats her to it, handing her a pair of pills that she just takes dry, dropping her head back to lean against the plane wall.

"Thanks, Icarus. I'm gonna…take a nap, if that's okay with you." Exhausted, and they have at least an hour to Prague, unless the pilot flies as wildly as she does.

"Sure. I'll wake you when we're close." He puts the kit away and sits beside her, hesitating only for a moment before doing so. Maybe he'd seen how she swayed in just the slightest against the seat, breathing slow and making sure the bindings aren't too tight.

She quickly drifts off without realizing it, Icarus' warmth beside her a comforting presence.

Malik wakes again when she hears the engines shift, the slightest change in tone from horizontal burning to vertical. Her eye opening and she finds she'd been leaning on Adam again. This was…quickly becoming an unsettling habit, she thinks. How easy it was to settle against his alloy arm, how he let her.

The VTOL touches down in an open area, ground level from the impact that vibrates through the floor, and Malik sits up, hissing sharp as she does. The door opens and- they're not at her safehouse. It's still dark, but it looks to be the docks they came to when they burned her leg. She doesn't say anything – knows Adam must have had a reason.

Trusts him.

The assassin moves to pick her up, and she braces herself as he gently lifts her, pulls her close to his chest. She's about to ask about the crate of augs, but he just shoves it with a foot, and it slides out of the plane and onto the street.

"Thanks Kay," he raises his voice, the rumble just barely heard over the jets. "Payment should be showing up already."

"Yep, I see it. Watch yourself out there, Icarus," the pilot calls back, waiting for them to be out of the plane before sliding the door closed and taking off after they're a safe enough distance away.

Adam carries her towards a truck, popping the bed of it and setting her down gently on the door. She leans against the side of the bed, assuming he's going to get the crate. The painkillers must be working, because everything is a dull ache and even the edges of the night feel fuzzy and faded.

He picks up the crate of augs, and, after taking a glance to the sky, noting the tiny VTOL as it disappears, turns away from her and the truck and strides quickly for a small speedboat tied up to the docks. Vaguely, she thinks that if he were anyone else, he'd be taking the augs and running. When he doesn't come back for a minute, she almost starts to think that's what's happening. She's about to rouse herself to get up when he's coming back, his boots making soft thuds against asphalt, nothing like the sounds of snow they'd been living in so recently.

She must betray the thought on her face, some small smile at his return, because he raises an eyebrow at her. "Why do you look surprised to see me?" As if he'd only walked a short distance – he had, but.

"Was thinking that if you were anyone else, you'd have left with the augs." A neat profit, one less hassle to deal with. Anyone else would have taken the temptation.

"I have a paper in my pocket that says your life is what I'm here for, not a box of augs." A pause, as he lifts her. "You sure you're all here?"

Huh. Maybe she was being a little more open than usual with him. "Good painkillers," is all she says in answer.

He huffs, she could swear he's rolling his eyes at her, as he walks back over the dock and steps carefully into the boat, around the crate and setting her into the seat next to the captain's chair.

"Thought we were taking the truck?" she pulls his coat closer over herself, sinking down into it, and very consciously not pressing her nose against the collar to see what he smelled like.

"Boat's safer. Doubt anyone out of their mind will be piloting one or taking a swim."

"Shit's still out of control?" She'd hoped the fires were just residual from the chaos. Had hoped that it would have stopped by now.

"Haven't heard any different." He crouches, rummaging around and digging into the boat's guts. She looks back at the road, makes sure it's still as quiet as it had been when they'd touched down. There's no one around, and she wonders if the chaos really is still happening. If it had concentrated into pockets of the city. She would call Vaclav but the painkillers have finally set in, and she really doesn't want her Infolink trying to pull a HUD over her missing eye, or to listen to the alerts of it warning her about needing medical attention.

Vaclav could wait.

He manages to get the boat started, and as he straightens up, Malik's eye is drawn to the motion. Watching him move, and she thinks to herself that his addiction to the coat really is a shame – he strikes quite a stunning figure without it.

She opens her mouth to tell him this, and only just barely stops the words from falling from her lips. Digging a hand into her pockets and, really, where had that come from?

Painkillers. Must be the painkillers.

Her fingers brush against some scrap, and she pulls it out to see what it is- ah. The eye she'd dug out of the aug crate, just in case she couldn't go back for it. She rolls the thing in her fingers, listening to the quiet rev of the boat engine as they peel out into the river. Maybe he's trying to stay quiet, keep any attention from being drawn to them. A good idea, if there's any police around.

She doubted it, considering the state of the world at the moment.

"You know," she says, holding the eye up to her right side, as if she were using it to see. "I picked these up for you."

He glances over at her, and tenses in just the slightest. Had he just suppressed a flinch?

"Lucky thing, huh? Wonder what cool shit I'll be able to do now." A world of possibility had opened up with her leg, and she'd seen the kind of things Vaclav did with clients' eyes.

"You had an eye in your pocket and you made me haul up a crate because?" he asks, piloting slow and sticking close to the banks, hiding in the shadows. She wonders if he's just trying to keep her awake.

"When, in the near future, was I going to be able to go get it otherwise?" she frowns, looking at the eye in her hand. She hopes it hadn't gotten scratched in all of her exhausting escapades. If being slammed into a tree hadn't, being thrown into asphalt might have.

"You could have asked someone."

"I'd have to trust 'em, and they'd have to still be around." A soft hum, sliding the eye back into her pocket so she can curl tighter into his warm coat. "I'm gonna assume for now that I can't get anything if I need it." Safer than relying on a network that might not even be alive any longer, might have all gone insane and tried to kill each other.

"A big enough paycheck tends to work," he says, and yeah, he's definitely being more talkative than usual.

"Not all of us are made of money, Mr. Jensen," she huffs. "I'll have you know I have exactly thirteen cents in my bank account." Her nicer mechanics paid her in a warm meal whenever she brought them parts.

"That's not something most people are proud of." She can almost see the disapproving eyebrows from where he's not looking at her.

"I'm not most people," she says, as if he didn't know this.

"I'm aware."

"should steal your coat more often," she mumbles, in what she had thought had been her head.

"What?" He's halfway turned to look at her, and really, it only reaffirms the thought. The dying light of a fire across the bank illuminates his augs, his tactical vest, his legs. His ass, too.

She may or may not be staring.

"What?" she finally asks, looking up at him.

He raises an eyebrow, and she thinks it might be in concern, now.

"You're going to start stealing my clothes?" He sounds disbelieving, but maybe that has more to do with the fact that she did her best to refuse his coat earlier, in Poland. A whole world away.

"Warm," she just says. As if that's the answer. In the clear. "'nd you've got a nice ass."

Nevermind.

The actual shock on his face is a nice look that she will cherish forever, thanks to the black box she's got in her head. Won't have much depth, what with only one eye to record from, but she hopes it manages to get a good snapshot despite most of her HUD being shut off.

He composes himself. "You're still in shock."

"Probably," she acquiesces. "Doesn't mean I'm lying."

He just heaves a long-suffering sigh, doesn't say anything further. Probably thinking that if he doesn't engage, she'll just keep to herself. Or maybe they're close. The houses are starting to look familiar, though she doesn't have much experience from the river-side or in the almost-dawn.

"You should let me-"

"There," he interrupts her, pointing at her safehouse. As if she couldn't recognize her own home.

"Yeah, I see it," a little grumpily. She'd had a good idea there - though she can't quite recall what it was. "Is that…is Vaclav sitting in the window?" she sits up a little to see better, but that looks like the dim lights catching off dark metal augs. It's definitely someone, so she hopes it's Vaclav. Anything else would be a very bad sign.

"Looks like it," the assassin answers, quietly turning the boat for the wall by her home, as Vaclav moves suddenly from the seat and rushes for the door.

He's running out, looking far worse than he usually does, exhausted and tired to the bone, but. In one piece, thankfully. She couldn't say the same for herself.

"Mal-!" it's a quiet cry, as he's reaching down to help Icarus tie the boat to a post along the wall.

"Hey kid," she says, smiling warm. "I thought I told you to stay inside and not open the door for any reason," a chiding noise, frowning hard.

"You're always the exception," he answers, as Adam moves to pick her up and hand her up to the mechanic. Vaclav braces his knee against the stone, taking her gently and standing slow. She doesn't even notice the pain, finally, which means the drugs must have set in.

"you're okay?" she asks, glancing over to see Adam lifting the crate out and setting it on the wall, hopping out of the boat before untying it and letting it drift off. Just another piece of damage among billions, surely.

"I'm here," he just says. She can echo the sentiment. Things wouldn't be 'okay' for a long while yet. "Let's get you inside. What did you do to my leg?!" He's either just noticed or he's trying to distract her. Whatever it is, it works.

"Took a blade for me. Better that one than my meatier one, huh?" a smirk tossed in Icarus' direction, though he doesn't seem to notice, hauling the crate behind them as Vaclav climbs the steps to the door.

He sighs, almost to the door. "I suppose." Moving to shift her so he can hold her in one arm, but Jensen sets the crate down and is opening the door before he can finish he movement.

"Your augs don't include mind-reading, do they, Jensen?" he asks, half a laugh as he steps through the door.

"Not as far as you know," he rumbles. He almost sounds amused. Maybe shaken, is more the right term for it.

"That'd be a cool aug," Malik mentions, curling just slightly to avoid being a hindrance through the doorframe.

Vaclav carries her straight to his workshop, wants to get under those bandages and see just how much damage had been done to her eye. The way Jensen is looking at it, it's either really bad, or he's the one who did it – which would…also likely make it very bad.

"I even brought my own aug, V, look," she says, digging into her pocket again and pulling out the eye.

"You know, Mal, people don't usually bring their own limb replacements when they come to me."

"Yeah, I'm just prepared like that."

Adam comes in, then – he must have gone to set the crate he'd been carrying inside and lock the doors. Probably close the shutters and turn off unnecessary lights too. He was an expert in remaining hidden.

"She's got a laceration in her side and injured ribs, too," he tells the mechanic, sounding…far too subdued for the infamous assassin. Malik picks it up easily, but she thinks even Vaclav can see something is off.

"You dealt with those?" Vaclav asks, setting her gently in his chair and taking the eye from her, setting it on a side table.

"More or less. She might need stitches for the side." He's leaning against the wall by the door, and Vaclav can tell he's likely not going to budge any time soon.

"Alright firebird, I'm gonna put you under and get you that eye in, okay?" he asks, a gentle hand on her cheek, pulling her attention.

"I was gonna sleep for a year anyway," she says, quietly glad that she still had that warm coat wrapped around her as she lay in his chair.

"Get some rest, Mal," he says, pressing a needle to her throat – when'd he pick that up? – and smoothly sinking it into skin. She falls asleep before the anesthesia has a chance to hit.

(art by the lovely pidoodle on tumblr! 3)