|| Agents Choi and Yoon have kept the tension running for too long.

 

 

"There’s an image stuck in my head. Of you and I. It’s kind of.. I don’t.. not like it. Do you understand?"

She nods, emotion flickering for a second in her eyes.

"We're on a mission now. But when it’s done –"

"We’ll see when it’s done."

"No." He steps forward in a subconscious attempt to stop her exit. She turns her head, not brave enough to give hope to what this could mean for them, not at this time. She wishes that he doesn’t see what his words have done to her. "We’ll talk when this is over, Elle. I’ll make sure of that."

"You better," she says, giving him a barely perceptible nod before leaving the room. She stops after the turn by the lab, looking at the bow where a Capricorn sticker was on. Her thumb brushes over it, just like she did a lot of times since finding it the night she fell asleep at the training range, and she smiles. The captain’s voice comes over through her earphones, rounding them up for a final briefing. She answers an affirmative and hitches her weapon over her shoulder.

 

 

The bullet is shot, but it never hits him.

Instead, Seung Hyun finds himself thrown against the glass, sending his body and the glass crashing onto the floor. He groaned at the impact, pain shooting through before the heaviness above him moves. It’s her, and she’s scowling, hair disheveled and panting apparently from the run.

"Damn it, Choi. Get your head sorted."

They hear the shots fired again, and both instinctively dive to the nearest wall. She’s pressed against him in the cramped space that hides them from the general direction, shots hitting very close he swears he felt a couple whizz by. He looks at her, breathless and grins at the way she’s clutching at his jacket.

"How’re you liking the skinship, Yoon?"

"Not as much as you," she whispers, still angry that he was stupid enough to think he could keep himself vulnerable on one side and not get taken down. She was too angry she almost shot him herself. She pushed against him but contradicted the action when she clutched his shirt. It was the wince that gave her away. And the wetness. His hand grazed her side and there it was, coating his palm in a sheen of liquid red – warm and rustic.

He looked at her in horror but she was smiling the way she did in London and it clenched at his heart because it was misplaced and ironic and she was starting to lean back to him. Once the round of firing starts again he instinctively pulls her tighter and hears her whimper. His body wraps around her in an effort to keep her shielded.

"Officer down! Get somebody here right now!"

She slumps on him, and this was not how he imagined it would be. No, not this way.

"Elle." He shakes her. "Come on, baby." She winces again, and blood smears on the floor. "Somebody get the hell down here!"

From the back of his mind he registers Siwon’s affirmative and query of their location, barking the answer as he hoists her against the corner where he used to be, putting enough pressure on her side before he sees her hand on her abdomen, tamping down a similar wound. He lets out an expletive and places his other hand over hers. She leans against stone, breathing raggedly. Sweat matts her forehead and neck and when she says something but he barely catches it.

"What? Say it again."

She looks at him, eyes clouded with pain but amusement laces the corners of her lips. "We’re going to be late for dinner, Choi. Start shooting."

 

 

She comes to consciousness two days later to the smell of cinnamon rolls, coffee and the sound of hushed bickering between Min Ho and Seung Ho. The topic was over which coffee shop had better in-store music. One preferred slow, the other digged reggae. She could have contributed to the conversation but her body ached and the pull of sleep was strong. She decided to give in this time.

Several hours later she briefly resurfaces to feel warmth cover her. Someone must have brought her blanket from home because it smells familiar. That someone was slipping the edges under her to keep from slipping if she moves. She feels her hand get squeezed and wished she could do the same but the contact was brief, along with the brush of lips over her forehead. Siwon, she thinks. It’s his scent.

"Rest," he says. "I’ll see you tomorrow."

 

The third time she wakes, she opens her eyes to a moonlit room and the sound of a monitor periodically beeping. She slowly pushes up, the shooting pain eventually dulling out until it’s just a constant throb. Her breath is hot but cold sweat breaks. The lightheadedness at the change of position disappears soon as her back rests against the headboard. Her eyes adjust to the dimness and she takes in her surroundings slowly.

She’s apparently in a private room, maybe even a suite. A painting hangs on the wall across her, right above a glass table that held several vases of flowers, all with cards stuck to their side. A sofa set and coffee table is to her right facing the bed. There’s the coffee and the box of cinnamon rolls she smelled earlier. There’s a wooden divider behind the sofa and from where she was seated she made out a small kitchen. A door along the wall the painting was mounted was hal