the_vigilante | every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

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every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

He shouldn't have told her to leave. He doesn't know why he told her to leave.

No, that's a lie. He knows why he told her to leave. He told her to leave because all he could see, the second the cat was out of the bag, was Lena in the backseat, waving one of her stuffed toys to the beat of the song she was making up about Pawnee, then Maurice, fucking Maurice, and the gun, and something in him had snapped all over again. The famous Aiden Pearce temper. He'd shoved her away, told her to get out, and she had, and he regrets every second of it. He's seen things in the last two hours that would allow her a world of forgiveness (she tried to trade herself for Nicky, she never took the money, he thinks he's in love with her), if he hadn't already forgiven her, not ten minutes out of the door.

He shouldn't have told her to leave and his shitty knee jerk reaction is going to get her killed.

The Club's coming, now, according to Ray and the Kawasaki he's racing against them on can't go fast enough. He practically throws himself off of it, as the cemetery gates come into view, and it continues on without him, running into a low stone wall, where it falls over. He swerves around it as he heads up the path, pulling a pistol out of its holster, and as he crests the hill, he sees two things immediately. One, he's not entirely too late, as Clara is still standing, alive, her head bowed over Lena's headstone. (She's the one who's been leaving the flowers, fuck.) And two, there's half a dozen armed Club guys weaving through the grave markers from the other side of the cemetery, headed straight for her, so that first one might not be the case for long.

Swearing under his breath, he picks up the pace, and yells, "Clara, down, now!"

He hopes she has enough sense to get down before she looks back at him. One of them needs to do the smart thing, for once.

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Clara is numb, and she's pretty sure she has been for a while now, the last thing she can really remember feeling Aiden's hand on her arm, pushing her away from him. She hasn't seen him look at her that way since they first met, since she was still badboy17, a manipulated voice on the line with no real connection to the man standing in front of her, since he was trying to intimidate her to see how far he could push her, to see what it would take to break her.

She wonders if he realizes he finally worked it out, figured out what it would take to break her, because she feels broken, feels like she left her heart laying on the bunker floor when she stumbled backwards from that push, stumbled up the stairs and into the elevator, when she stumbled into her car and found her way somehow off the island.

It's all her fault, she knows it is, and she wishes she had found a way to tell him sooner - but there was no time that wouldn't have ended this way, wouldn't have lost her the ability to try and make right what she did. She's done what she can now, though, and once she leaves this last handful of flowers on the grave of the little girl she can't get out of her mind, she'll be gone, out of Chicago to start over somewhere else.

She only has eyes for the gravestone as she makes her way through the cemetery, and she's just starting to kneel when Aiden's voice startles her out of her stupor. Her head snaps up an instant before there's the crack of a gunshot, and she drops as she finally feels something for the first time in what feels like days. Fire roars through her arm, and she gasps as she drops the flowers and to her knees, blood on her fingers as she claps a hand to her shoulder reflexively, boots scrabbling over the grass as she pushes herself up against Lena's stone, head tucked down as bullets whiz by, chips of stone falling past her face.

Aiden drops with her, dives, their limbs lacing together at awkward angles as he wraps himself around her, head tucked up against his chest, trying to shield her as much as take cover. He waits a handful of heartbeats like that, close, and then twists away, popping up over Lena's headstone to fire a volley of bullets back at the Club guys out in the yard, trying to buy them time. They're not easy targets; they will fight back. He hunkers back down with her, close, breath coming heavy, once he's sure it's been recieved.

"You got a gun?" he asks, chancing a look up at her. He can probably fight the both of them out of this, but it'd help if -- if she wasn't fucking bleeding. Heart dropping into his stomach and regardless of her answer, he starts to reach for her, swearing, "Shit."

Clara moves immediately closer to him, pulling him farther down into cover and using him to balance herself. She takes her hand back when he rises to shoot, bracing herself against Lena's headstone, her other hand still putting pressure on the wound.

"Yeah," she agrees with a nod. She doesn't pull away from him, wants nothing more than to move toward him. "It's nothing," she says quickly, even though her hand is covered in blood when she takes it away to reach into her coat for her handgun.

She's fine and will be fine until they get out of here.

"You're bleeding," he points out, as if she's probably not well aware of that fact. He can't tell how bad it is, though -- not between her coat and the fact that he keeps having to flick his gaze away, to make sure the Club hasn't gotten bold in the last two seconds and decided to rush them. For all he knows, he was too fucking late, and he gets to see someone else he cares about die. For all he knows, she's already a dead woman walking.

"It's just a graze," she assures him, adrenaline steadying her hands as she cocks the gun. "I'll be alright. You got here." She meets his gaze for a moment, knowing how his mind works, knowing what he's thinking.

For the moment, she can only be relieved to see that he's worried about her, even if he still tells her to leave when this is all over. For the moment, it's enough.

"I'm gonna hold you to that," he tells her, holding her eyes. He's not sure what he'll do, if she's not alright, no threat really holding weight, and the Club already on the ropes, now that he's cut off its head, but -- he shakes his head faintly, forcing himself to shelve the thought and whatever fear that might have accompanied it, whatever fear might have made it onto his face, however briefly.

"In the meantime, six guys." He thinks. He knows he counted at least four; a solid team would be six. "I think I winged one of them."

Clara nods, following him in switching gears, pushing away the pain slowly growing in her arm. Before she can respond to that, though, she sees movement over Aiden's shoulder. "Behind you!" she says instead and raises her gun, firing in the goon's direction. She sees him take it, but he doesn't go down.

"Down," he orders, hoping she takes his meaning as he pushes away from her, to his feet, and starts firing into the distance, picking one of the fixers who didn't circle around. It's the only choice he has. If he tried to turn, to shoot the guy at his back, he'd lose his cover, expose himself to the guys across the yard in trying to extricate himself from Clara. This way, she can at least aim through his legs at the guy behind him, while he picks off a few more to the front. That's the plan, anyway.

Clara ducks for a moment, briefly confused by the order - and then realizes when he stands what he means. She raises her gun again to aim for the fixer at Aiden's back - and this time, when he comes out of cover, she shoots him somewhere that he goes down and stays there. "One down!" she calls to him as she readjusts, pulling her injured arm against herself as she turns back toward the front, taking aim at the next fixer she can get a shot on.

Aiden takes two more shots before he drops back down, his chest against Clara's back. The first, he assumes goes wide, as there's no cry of pain or shattering of stone as the bullet impacts it. The second, while he doesn't see it hit, either, apparently does, as the fixer falls into view, unmoving.

"Two," he answers on a breath out. A breath in, and he rises from the grave to start shooting again.

Clara can't help but shiver at his breath in her ear - but she pulls herself back together to level a shot at a fixer who's decided now would be a good time to try a new position. Her first shot catches him in the leg, and he cries out and goes sprawling - and the next goes through his head. "Trois!" she calls.

She's also counting her shots, knowing she only has a few left in her gun - and, since she didn't plan on getting into a firefight, today, doesn't have a second magazine on her.

Aiden, meanwhile, did bring extra ammunition, always does, and while he's not a mind reader, he still dips his hands into his pockets, and pulls out a pair of magazines. Setting one down at her foot, ejects his own empty, and loads the second into his gun, pulling one into the chamber. When he's ready, he leans around the edge of the headstone, rather than standing up from it, just for a little variety, himself, and fires two more shots.

Two fixers go down, one shot through the head, the other, the chest. He doesn't bother counting them off, for all that there's only one left, now.

Clara's dimly aware of him setting the magazine by her, more focused on dropping the last fixer. "Calisse!" she swears when her first two shots only hit stone. Her third shot hits, but she doesn't stop to see if it drops the man before she ducks down to eject her empty magazine, to replace it with the one Aiden gave her.

It takes a moment for her to slide the magazine home, and this time, she has trouble drawing back on the gun to ready the next round.

That difficulty doesn't escape Aiden, but he only lingers on it, on her, for a heartbeat before he pushes out from behind the grave in entirety, marching towards the last of the fixers, filled with a need, now, to end this and quick. Thankfully, the fixer stays where he is, huddled behind his own headstone, struck with the realization that he's the last of his party, and that he probably won't get as lucky as his now-dead boss did, once upon a time. Aiden puts him out of his misery quickly, hauling him out from behind his cover one-handed, fortified by the adrenaline, and unloading a single shot into his jaw, under the chin.

Letting him drop back into the grass, he turns back to Clara, and barks, "C'mmon."

They'll take one of the Club cars back to the bunker -- or at least to hobotown. It'll be more comfortable for Clara, not having to ride pinion behind him, with her bleeding arm, and safer for the both of them, if and when someone decides to give chase.

Clara stays down as he breaks out of cover, rising enough to level her gun back in the fixer's direction in case he gets any bright ideas. He doesn't have time for anything before Aiden's blowing him away - but she still straightens slowly, glancing around the graveyard for any other movement.

The only people she can see are running away from the sounds of gunfire, but she keeps her gun in hand as she jogs toward Aiden, catching up with him as he approaches the cluster of town cars and sedans.

She feels like she should say something or that she should break away from him, pick one of the other cars to take for her own, to head the opposite direction from wherever he's going - but she can't think of anything to say and can't stop herself from following him to the car and sliding into the passenger seat when he opens the doors.

She can always leave later if he wants.

Getting into the driver's seat, Aiden starts the car and peels out of the cemetery, in a hurry to get going before more Club guys show up -- or worse, the cops. It's not long before he decides that they're not going to be followed, however, and while he doesn't quite relax, he does allow himself a sideways glance in her direction.

He feels like he should say something, to apologize for all the shit he said, did, after Defalt dropped his little nuke on them. He needs to, for all that he knows he hurt her, but that isn't a conversation he wants to have now, either. He wants to be able to look her in the eyes, when he apologizes, so she knows he's being sincere. He wants her to be able to see how much she means to him, and she does -- she means the world. On the other hand, though, he's also not sure he wants to tell her they need to talk later, that always ending up feeling like a trap. He doesn't want her to have to worry about it until they've stopped, until he's gotten his shit together and taken care of Damien, because he knows he's going to be pissed when he airs all of his coveted dirty laundry. He needs to say something, though, or turn on the radio -- something, or this is going to be the most awkward drive ever, and that might be just as bad as any of the other options, her mistaking his silence for anything else.

Maybe, he thinks, he should ask about her shoulder, the graze obvious now that they're not being shot at and he can really look at her, even through just the corners of his eyes, the hole in the shoulder of her jacket visible. Maybe he should suggest she try and find something to stop the bleeding, if she is still bleeding, or he should, feeling around in the back of the car for a shirt or jacket one of these assholes left behind. Maybe a lot of things, but as he works his jaw to say something, however inane, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, the sound another gunshot in the silence he's let fall between them.

He jumps thirty feet, though to his credit, the car doesn't waver as a result, and fumbles for his phone, breathing out a swear as he checks just to make sure it isn't Damien, before bringing it to his ear.

Clara pulls her seat belt on with a hiss of French before she settles back, watching the mirror for anyone following. When she comes to the same conclusion as Aiden, she huffs out a breath, adrenaline fading and the wound truly starting to sting. She pulls her arm forward, trying to squint down at the hole in her jacket - she should probably take it off, try to really assess how bad it is, but she's not sure she could while seated in the car.

The bleeding seems to be slowing, at least, and she sits back with another breath out, running her fingers along her brow before she glances sideways at Aiden. His attention seems fixed on the road, and she swallows as she tries to think of something to say, something to break this terrible silence.

She jumps just as badly as Aiden when his phone goes off, swearing under her breath again and then huffing out a bemused breath as Aiden answers.

Fortunately, it's Ray on the phone, and he sighs into Aiden's ear. "Pearce, tell me you got everything you wanted, 'cause I'm fuckin' tired."

Yeah," Aiden answers. He got to see Quinn die, finally understands why Lena had to, even if it's still bullshit -- a mob boss protecting his interests. He managed to save Clara, when her blood would have been on his hands, his fault, if he hadn't gotten there soon enough. All that's left, now, is Damien, and he won't need Ray for that. He and Clara are done. They can rest, now. All that remains is on him, it ending as it began, with him and Damien.

"I got Clara, too," he continues after a beat, settling on that, her of all the things rattling around in his head. They can go over the rest later, before or after Damien. "She's hurt -- those Club guys you mentioned? Damien put them onto her -- but she's with me. We're on our way back."

Ray is silent through that beat, expecting Aiden to go on. "Shit," he says when Aiden does. "She alright?"

The worry is clear in his tone. He knew Aiden's anger toward the other hacker wouldn't last, and not just because it's obvious to anyone with eyes that he's developed feelings for her. Ray doesn't hold it against her one way or the other - he knows how this business is.

"I think so," he says, shooting Clara another quick look. She's still conscious, and while she's obviously in pain, she doesn't have the palor of someone bleeding out. He's still worried, though, but he doesn't want to tell Ray as much, doesn't want to say it in front of Clara, who can't not be listening in, for all that he's a whole two inches from her. At least, if this all does eventually go to shit, she can at least go to a hospital. He doesn't have that luxury, himself.

"We'll figure it out, when we get back," he finishes, finally.

Clara glances back at him but doesn't say anything, only assuming what he's responding to.

"Alright," Ray returns after a moment. "See you when you get here."

The line goes dead as Ray hangs up.

"You got Defalt out of the bunker?" Clara asks once it's clear they've hung up. She assumes they did, but it's something to talk about that's not where the two of them stand.

"See you," Aiden echoes, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

He glances at Clara again, at the question, humming to the affirmative, before he answers, "He managed to get away from me, but we got the data back, too." A pause follows, and then more tentatively, almost gently, he adds, "I got Nicky away from Damien, too."

Clara huffs out a breath, nodding a few more times than is probably actually necessary. He goes on before she responds, though, and she smiles. "Oh, thank God." She pauses a beat before asking. "Is she alright?"

She doesn't know that Aiden knows she tried to trade herself for Nicky - she just knows that Damien let her get through her offer before letting her know that Nicky was out of the picture.

"Yeah," he answers, something flickering over his face like a shadow. He doesn't blame Nicky for how they parted ways, for her writing him out of her life and for more than the fact that she had to, to be safe, but it still hurts. He'll never see his sister again; he'll never see Jacks again. At least he can't get either of them hurt, ever again.

"Yeah, she's -- I left her and Jacks in Pawnee. They're not coming back," he finishes, when he feels like he can trust his throat.

"Oh. I'm sorry, Aiden," she breathes out, reaching for his arm before she can stop herself. She does stop before she gets there, though, hand paused awkwardly between them before she finally pulls it back and returns it to her lap.

every step we took that synchronized (rp for openyourworld)

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