Chapter Text
On the first day, they slip into the Mother’s shadow on a stolen Pelican.
In the cabin, three agents sit close in a row.
In the cockpit, Flight Officer Lacey DuFresne, known to her comrades as Four Seven Niner, sits with her hand on the throttle, waiting. A green AI projection hovers over her dash.
“Mark,” says Delta.
“Sync,” says Four Seven Niner.
“I have a high degree of confidence we will be able to complete this maneuver.”
“You didn’t even blink this time.”
“No,” Delta replies. “I did not. Prepare to engage thrusters on my mark.”
“Hang on to your oh-shit bars!” Four Seven Niner calls back over the intercom. “It’s about to get bumpy.”
“Bumpy” doesn't quite encompass the effects of jetting out of a frigate’s blind spot in a Pelican half a second before it jumps into subspace. Even for Four Seven Niner, it’s one of the more skull-rattling experiences of her life.
The jump kicks them hard enough she doesn’t need to throttle up until well after the turbulence dies down, but when it does, she pushes hard. The Mother will have detected their departure immediately. Their only reprieve is the time it will take her to come out of subspace and send a team in pursuit, and during that respite they'd best get as far away as possible.
“We’re clear,” she calls back on the intercom.
"Good to move?” comes North’s voice.
“Affirmative. Everybody okay back there?”
“Wash is gonna need to lie down. He’s got a pretty bad migraine.”
Four Seven leaves the intercom on. The others are too distracted to notice.
The Pelicans are designed for mission drops, not road trips. Two rows of seats line the cabin walls, with the safety bars that swing down to lock in place. Not much in the way of comfort. Or privacy. The guys had the foresight to swipe a couple of field bedrolls from storage. That, and all the MREs they could carry. It’s going to be a long flight to somewhere even remotely safe for them to dock. North said they all bunked together on Mother of Invention so they’re used to close quarters. Four Seven is pretty sure there’s more to it than that, but she doesn’t press it.
She hears the sounds of shifting, shuffling as the guys move. Words too soft for her to make out.
“Is Agent Washington in a lot of pain?” It’s the unnervingly childlike voice of North’s AI.
North takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m afraid he is.”
“Can we help?”
“We’re trying.”
“Please tell me if I can help in any way.”
“You’ll be the first to know, T.”
It’s when he manages to fall asleep that things get bad. Screaming bad. Four Seven’s so startled she pounds the door switch and swings around on instinct.
They’re all three of them crammed in a corner, North and York both wrapped around Wash who's shaking with sobs muffled against York’s shoulder, both of them holding onto him for dear life and murmuring words she can’t make out. No one even looks up.
Four Seven swivels around slowly and closes the door, hands gone cold and a hollow feeling in her stomach, and turns off the intercom for the next few hours.