Warnings: Violence, language.
Spoilers: None, really
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Notes: Written for Death Bingo. Prompt: Trauma (penetrating). Set when they're 25ish.
They were huddled together in the doorway in a dark alley watching a nervous man leaning against the side of a blue sedan. They were concealed by shadows and Nick's light suggestion of don't-see-me, waiting for the arrival of the informant's contact before they got the show started.
Peter shivered. "I'm fucking freezing. Where the hell is this guy?"
Nick shrugged.
"Seriously. It's like twenty below out here. Why can't we wait in the fucking car?" He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.
Olivia made an annoyed little sound.
"What?"
She rolled her eyes at him. "You've been bitching like a whiny little recruit all night, Peter. Shut up, already."
He whined. "It's cold."
"It's not that cold." Her cheeks and nose were pink even in the low light.
"My balls have retreated all the way up to my lungs. It is that cold."
She smothered a laugh and tried to glare at him.
Nick snickered and flicked his eyes from the informant to Peter. "We'll help you find 'em later."
"I'll be dead of hypothermia later."
Olivia patted his cheek. "Good, you'll be quiet then."
She was shifting closer to him when Nick tensed, swiveled his head to watch the car approaching. They went quiet as they watched the car until it parked, until the driver got out and approached the other man.
Peter's voice lowered, all business now. "Nick, fog them up so we can get close to them. Make it look like a robbery. Nothing weird." He pointed at Olivia who was bouncing eagerly on her toes. The bastard had sold out a team of soldiers that had been operating near Baghdad and civilian casualties had been heavy in the resulting raid. "No fire."
She nodded and flexed her fingers around the knife she was carrying. "Right."
They moved, swift and silent, Olivia in the lead. Nick let his control of them slip when they got close, shifted from concealment to intimidation and the two man scrambled for their weapons, eyes wide with fear. Peter veered towards one car, set about ransacking it. He could hear Olivia's laugh as she closed on her prey.
The informant was inept, should not have been carrying a gun in the first place as badly as he fumbled for it. A lunge from Olivia and a slash of her knife and the gun tumbled away. She circled him, grinning. She maneuvered him until he was backed up against the car and closed the distance. The blade punched through clothing and skin, glanced off his ribs. She followed the momentum, pressed against him and got right in his face. He was babbling, sharp shrieky sounds that she liked and she stabbed him again. He started slumping against her and she held him up for one more stab. His blood was making the leather of her glove slick, warming her hand.
She stepped back and he slid to the ground, bleeding out at her feet. Nick had been far more efficient, gone for the contact's throat. He was riffling through the man's pockets and she did the same. The informant was trying to talk and she considered cutting his tongue out but she thought that would probably fall into the category of weird. Suspicious at the very least. Peter tossed his loot into a garbage bag and moved to the other car. He stripped the car quickly.
The garbage bag was stowed in the trunk, waiting to burned and Nick was driving them towards home minutes later. Peter had the heater running full blast, holding his hands in front of a vent. Adrenaline was warming him and satisfaction was curling through all of them. Olivia leaned forward from the backseat and handed him a thermos.
He twisted towards her and raised an eyebrow.
"Hot chocolate. You always get cold."
He smiled at her. "Thanks."