I'm touched by your reviews, and I'm happy you want me to continue! This one was fun! (it takes place a few weeks after last chapter. the team's out on a new mission)
Chapter 4: t-shirt
"Did I tell you it's my birthday?" he screams in her ear.
Tatsu slams the sword back into its hilt as they chase through the rain towards the detonated reactor where, hopefully, there will be more back-up waiting for them.
Amanda Waller has predictably sent them into the storm again, although this time, she's come up with the brilliant plan of splitting them up into smaller teams. Her team is comprised of Captain Boomerang and Killer Croc. It's…not ideal.
For one thing, they've lost sight of Croc who crawled down under when the first explosions went off, and now they're being battered with a barrage of bullets and a violent downpour. Why does it always rain when they're on a deadly mission? She's completely soaked and exhausted and she really hates Flag for leaving her in charge. She can hardly see where she's going; it's almost convenient that Boomerang keeps shouting in her ear to keep her coordinated.
"Did you hear me? About the birthday?"
"Now's not the time! Get down!"
They both duck as a giant crane flies over their heads and lands with a horrible thud behind them. Debris fills their mouths until they choke. Another goddamn bomb went off. She can see the henchmen aiming their rifles.
Boomerang is already trying to get up, and he offers his hand for her to take, but damn – she feels a searing pain in her left leg and she stumbles.
Tatsu rips the fabric around her knee in a panic. It's only a small cut. She was grazed by something sharp. It could get infected fast, but she doesn't have time to consider that. She needs to move. They need to get out of firing range.
"Here, let me, luv –"
A bullet flies so close to his head that she has to pull him down by the lapels of his grimy coat.
"Careful!"
They roll down together again as the bullets keep coming. They can't do anything but crawl under the rubble. He instinctively covers her with his bear-like body until all she can see and smell is him. He doesn't seem to mind the danger, or at least he's not fully aware of it. He's effectively acting as human shield. She doesn't like it, she wants to switch places. But another handful of debris falls on them like snowflakes and he cradles her head.
"George."
She's never said his name before, more out of a sense of taboo than anything. She would never call her boss, "Rick". But she did throw up in the Aussie's toilet. Not a very good time to remember that. They're only inches apart. His breath – beer fumes, mostly – falls on her face.
"George," she calls again.
He raises his head and looks at her like she's clearly lost her senses. Why else would she call him George?
"It's all right, luv, we're not gonna die here."
"Do you trust me?" she asks in a whisper that only he can hear.
He nods, unsure.
"Do not move."
She's not known as Katana for nothing. There is no one on this planet who can deliver death with swifter precision. She slips the sword from her hilt. It's a matter of inches and wrist movement. Should her hand shake, she'd cut George too.
Her hand doesn't shake.
He first feels the hot blood pouring down his scalp and only after that, does he hear the swift hiss of a blade circling the air above him.
She presses one hand into his chest and suddenly, she's straddling him. He finds himself under her, watching her cut a second henchman from neck to groin. She releases the sword and turns the blade upside down as she catches a third reckless fool straight in the eye.
George tries not to scream like a baby. She's already killed three blokes and she hasn't even gotten up. It's half-mesmerizing, half-terrifying. The little assassin closes her eye as the sword absorbs the souls and turns the men to dust.
The bullets are still coming, though, so he snaps out of it because while this position is pretty damn enviable, he doesn't plan on dying in it. He grips Katana's waist and hauls them both out of the debris.
"Can you walk, luv?"
She mutters a halfhearted yes and she even takes a couple of confident steps forward, only to stagger on her damaged leg and curse in Japanese.
"Come on, potty mouth," he grunts, not leaving her time to argue as he hoists her over his shoulder. She's light in his arms, but her sword is releasing fucking steam. He thanks the stars he's not on her enemy list.
Killer Croc finally decides to make an appearance again as he rips into crowd of henchmen like they're fresh sardines.
Wanker likes to make a dramatic entrance, George thinks, grateful for his last-minute intervention, but highly annoyed, because it's his bloodybirthday and he's kind of touching Katana's ass right now (he swears it's accidental; his hand keeps slipping down as he runs), and he really would've liked for it to happen under different circumstances.
They make it to the chopper in the nick of time, and when he releases her, she throws him a look like she knows exactly where his hand has been.
Worth it, he thinks.
Back at the compound, he lies on his ragged mattress chewing on a chicken leg. Yeah, he already had his dinner with the other rudderless patsies, but he's feeling peckish and it is his birthday. He deserves a treat. He knows they'll be pissed in the morning when they find out he stole – no, no,took – the whole chicken from the fridge. But honestly, if tomorrow is a repeat of today, he needs his strength. He can hear Deadshot's snores through the wall. Hehe. So the smooth asshole does have one flaw. He could be a dick and turn on his TV really loud and wake him up, but he doesn't want Amanda Waller all up in his business again. This joint is nicer than his cell, but he knows it's only temporary. When the mission is over, it's back to prison, as usual. He almost wishes they'd lose a fight or two, so he could enjoy nightly snacks more often.
There's a knock on his door. Oh shite. Someone's noticed the chicken. But it's three AM in the morning! What kind of anal retentive –
A small figure slips in and closes the door behind her.
George gets up and turns on the light and sees Katana, of all people, standing in front of him in a large trench coat.
"Jesus, sweetheart, scared me half to death. What are you doin' here?"
She keeps looking at the floor instead of his face and she's all fidgety and nervous.
"Is this about the chicken?"
She shakes her head. "I – uh, thank you for covering for me today."
George scratches the back of his head. "Yeah, that's what teammates do, or so I've heard."
"Yes. But I still appreciate it. You put your safety at risk for me."
He tries to play it cool, like it was all in the line of duty, although he most absolutely wants to hear more about her…appreciation. "Oh, I did nothing."
"Modesty isn't your forte," she replies with a small smile.
"What is my forte then? My rippling physique? My brilliant mind? My killer sideburns?" He's going to milk this cow till it's dry.
She heaves a sigh. "I already regret this."
She unfolds the trench coat and lets it glide down her arms. Any kind of coherent thought leaves his brain in record time. His jaw slackens in a perfect rendition of a fish out of water.
"I heard you like these…ponies. Happy birthday, Captain Boomerang."
She's standing in front of him only in garters and a sparkling unicorn T-shirt.
Holy fucking shit.
Someone needs to pinch him.
"Harley lent them me the outfit. I hope it's the right thing."
His knees give out a little. He needs to remember to thank that crazy broad later. Katana looks like a fucking dream. It's even hotter that she's still wearing her mask.
He reaches out with a trembling hand and fingers the clasp on her garters. He can't believe she did this. He should tell her it's his birthday every day.
He wants her to straddle him again; he wants to see her deliver swift justice while wearing that goddamn perfect T-shirt. He makes a grab for her thighs, because damn it, he's weak, and all he wants is to take that sparkling unicorn to town, but Katana pushes him back with a light kick of her heel.
He lands on the mattress.
"Only watch, not touch."
George groans and curses every single deity known to man.
He knows he won't be able to sleep after she's gone. She's set him up with spank material for at least a solid year.