Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

“Oh, fuck me!”

“Sabina, what is it?” Jane’s voice is sharp. Elena, connected with both of them by comms, knows Jane’s sharpness signals concern, but it took her quite a while to figure that out. To an outsider Jane sounds annoyed or at the warmest possible interpretation, coolly professional. Resting-bitch-voice, and all that.

“Four goons,” huffs Sabina, sounding out-of-breath. “Coming this way, fast. They’re big. Like … terminator big.”

“Where are you?” bites Jane. Clear and to the point, as always. As different to Sabina’s mission style as night to day. Elena’s fingers fly over her computer keyboard, trying to bring up both their locations on the grid. She is in the support vehicle, a nondescript and heavily modified white van, parked in a nearby alleyway. Today she’s the getaway driver and technical support, both which she excels at though it’s unusual for her to need to do both.

They are down a Bosley (most frequently this is Bosley 342); something about an emergency back at the local Angels headquarters. So it’s just the three of them, in the field, in this last minute operation that couldn’t be put off, for some undisclosed reason. Something to do with said emergency.

They have been a team-of-three for the last 18 months now, and it’s been as thrilling as it is scary, fulfilling and at times crazy-making. That’s something about how well they work together, creatively and unexpectedly complementing each other’s differences. It’s also something about how they have gradually grown closer and closer, their friendship turning romantic and then for the last six months, sexual.

Elena chuckles wryly to herself, blushing even though she’s on her own. She'd never expected she’d end up with two women. Terribly happy, in polyamorous conflictual-bliss professional-family ... or whatever you would call the unique configuration they share.

Elena calls it emergence, lab-talk for something greater than the sum of its parts, like Artificial Intelligence achieving sentience because of mysterious and unrepeatable factors. Jane calls it a headache, but she says it with such a cute grin and soft teddy-bear eyes. Sabina calls it a fucking miracle. And then usually initiates said fucking.

“I don’t know!” huffs Sabina over comms, and they hear a slamming noise, more heavy breathing. “Maybe the seventh floor, maybe eight? They haven’t seen me yet, but they’ve cut off the exits. I’m in a storage closet.”

“I don’t see you,” Elena reports, snapping herself back to real-time. This is not the time for daydreaming like a lovesick teenager. Plenty of time for that after the mission, which always results in a pressing need to defrag the adrenaline high via the most intense lovemaking of her …

“Elena!” snaps Jane, British accent more noticeable than usual. Elena snaps back to reality, fingers flying over the keys.

“Um,” she mutters, squinting hard. “Sorry, there’s something wrong with the system. Maybe some kind of insulation is blocking your trackers? I’ve got to find Sabina another way… ” Elena studies the camera angles alongside floorplans, flicking open multiple screens in rapid succession. Her eyes and fingers fly, reading the situation much faster than either of her counterparts can achieve at this particular task. Elena even holds the academy record.

“I’m on the sixth floor,” Jane reports, staccato-talk most likely indicative of efficient sprinting. “Coming up the fire escape.”

“My hero!” jokes Sabina, which might mean she’s scared or could just be her usual jokey and trash talking shenanigans. Right now, Elena can’t quite tell. She’s much more fluent in Jane-talk and Sabina-talk than others are, but she wouldn’t say she’s proficient. They both hide quite a bit, from each other, from Elena and as far as she can tell, even from themselves.

Gunfire, a smattering, popping through the comms. Elena can’t tell who.

“Sabina!” calls Jane.

Ah, it must have been through Sabina’s comms then.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” mutters Sabina, and she sounds stressed, that much is for sure. “Guys, they’ve found me.”

“Where are you?” cries Jane.

“In the lift. Leaving through the roof.” Noises of the same.

More gunfire. Feedback from double-gunfire – oh, it’s coming through both comms. Elena finds herself out of breath, breaking out in sweat. Both her girls are under fire, or firing, and she’s stuck in this stupid van, and their trackers aren’t working, and she isn’t able to help and …

“Eighth floor!” Elena says, voice filling with relief. There! She can see Sabina ... well part of her, and from a weird camera angle. Just Sabina's rainbow sneakers, disappearing through the lift’s roof's trapdoor. “Jane, Sabina’s exiting the top of the lift on the eighth floor. The lift closest to the fire escape.” There are six lifts: it’s a big building.

“I know!” huffs Jane, followed by the bang of bullets: One, two, three, four. Elena’s flying fingers bring up another camera view: the eighth-floor hallway. Elena sees from the opposite end of where Jane must be holed up at the entrance to the fire escape, wedged behind the part-open door. She can’t actually see Jane. Two (very large!) goons are shooting at Jane, one from room 811, also wedged behind a part-open door. The other from the end of the hall, attempting (rather unsuccessfully) to hide his bulk behind a large pot plant.  

Elena reports the locations, phrasing them from Jane’s perspective. She must get it right, because she sees pot plant-guy go down, clutching his shoulder. 811-guy is still shooting, but one of Jane’s bullets actually dings off the door handle of 811 and he shouts in alarm.

“Now Jane!” cries Elena, and she sees Jane burst out of the stairwell, sprinting down the hall. As Jane passes 811 she kicks the opening door straight into the goon behind it, following Elena’s instructions with precision timing. He screams; they don’t see him, but he’s presumably down for the count. Jane springs into the nearest lift.

“Sabina!” Jane yells, and Elena sees her jump to catch the open roof-door, and watches Jane’s impressive musculature heave herself up and through in an acrobatic move that she does much faster than Elena can yet (or probably ever) achieve. Elena can’t see Jane anymore, and she casts around on screens and views, trying to get eyes on Jane and Sabina or else on likely threats. Sabina said there were four goons? So there must be two more at least …

There is no answer from Sabina’s comms. With a sinking feeling, Elena realises that they haven’t heard from Sabina for most of Jane’s gunfight.

“Damn it,” snaps Jane. “She’s gone.”

“Where?” wonders Elena, scanning the floorplan urgently. “Hey, there’s a ladder to the left. Do you see it?”

“That’s a ladder?” asks Jane dubiously. “Those rungs can’t be more than a foot wide.”

“Um,” says Elena, trying desperately to zoom in. The floorplan is poor quality, pixilated. “I think so? I mean, what else would it be?”

“There’s also a pipe,” Jane points out, and Elena vaguely makes out what could? be a pipe on the floorplan’s opposite wall. “Maybe she climbed up that?” Jane adds. “Or shimmied down?”

“Why aren’t the trackers working?” Elena frets. Instinctively, her voice turns Bosley-like, commanding. “Sabina! Sabina, are you there? Come in. We need your location. Sabina! Report.”

Radio silence.

“I’m going up,” Jane decides. “The not-ladder thing.”

“Okay,” says Elena, knowing that Jane has good tactical instincts, usually the best of all three-of-them. It’s best Jane makes this call. Sabina’s instincts are like the toss of a die in the casino: she wins big or else loses everything. Elena’s gut instincts are still developing: she’s learning how to trust her personal intuition, professionally. Usually, they’d have Bosley on their team to make this call, expert in both tactical thinking and instinctual calls, trained in leadership, and with a clear and full view of the unfolding situation. Elena suddenly misses Bosley, fiercely. She blinks her stinging eyes and forces herself to focus.

“There are no cameras in the lift shaft,” Elena tells Jane. “I don’t have eyes on you, just a bad floorplan.”

“Great,” says Jane, dryly - Elena knows this is sarcasm. It is also a coping mechanism; underneath it Elena can make out worry. Jane is worried, yet unwaveringly focused on the mission. This is Jane’s strength: she can focus, blindingly, and on point, whenever and wherever that’s needed. They are lucky to have her. Focus can be, often is, the key to success.

Elena scans the floorplan and camera-views of the ninth floor, looking for signs of Sabina. She doesn’t see their erstwhile teammate, but she does see something … strange. A woman in a red dress. Standing in suite 901, smirking up at the camera. She has one finger to her bloodred lipstick, as though she’s shushing a lover. Elena shivers all over as they make what feels like eye contact (though of course the woman can’t see her; it’s an illusion), and then Elena's eyes go behind the woman, to the bed and she gasps out loud.

“Jane!” she says sharply. “Suite 901. The weapon. On the bed.”

They’ve been assigned to locate and steal this weapon. They don’t know details other than it will probably look like a large tranquilizer gun ... yet isn’t that. They’ve been explicitly ordered not to fire it, and to transport it with utmost caution. This mission had next to no intel; all that was known was that the weapon was somewhere in this twenty-storey hotel, and that it was probably well guarded. Time was of the utmost importance. Hopefully the guards wouldn’t expect them; stealth was called for. Get in, get out, fast, with caution, and as unobtrusively as possible.

Well, that part was shot now, literally.

“Roger that,” says Jane, “exiting onto the ninth floor.”

“Wait!” hisses Elena. “There’s a woman in there too.”

“Just her?” checks Jane.

“Yes,” says Elena, but her undeveloped instincts give some kind of ping. “But Jane, something’s off. She’s making eyes at the camera … like she knows we’re watching.”

“Huh,” whispers Jane, so quiet that Elena almost doesn’t hear.

Suddenly gunfire bursts over the comms again, multiple shots.

“Jane!” gasps Elena, but she sees nothing in the camera-view of the ninth hallway where she can see Jane cautiously inching along.

“Fuck,” says Jane, and by her tone, Elena understands that they’re hearing over Sabina’s comms.

There is a moan, and Elena’s blood freezes in her veins.

“Sabina?” Elena whispers, not wanting it confirmed.

“Girlfriends,” mutters Sabina, and her voice is raspier than usual. “This is bad.”

“What is?” snaps Jane, merciless. Elena knows this is the way Jane needs to be, the way that will get the mission done and save Sabina too, if that’s at all possible. Elena is grateful to Jane. Elena is angry at Jane for talking to Sabina that way, when clearly, so clearly, something is very wrong.

“Seventh floor,” mumbles Sabina, then coughs weakly. God, thinks Elena, Sabina must have gone down the pipe, not up the ladder. Jane’s instincts were wrong (for once). Sabina’s still speaking: "two goons, huge. Like I think it’s Terminator one and two. And there’s a woman, in a red dress. She has a…” another cough, wet sounding, “great ass.”

“Mouthy girl,” says a feminine voice, presumably the woman in red. Then there’s a thud, a half-groan, half-scream (Sabina!), and the distinctive click of a gun being cocked.

Jane moves so fast Elena has a hard time keeping up. Jane sprints to suite 901 despite what Sabina just said about floor seven, and Elena’s heart stops. Jane is kicking the door down with her combat boots before Elena can screech:

“What are you doing?!” and Jane doesn’t appear to hear her, when Elena does so. The door is opening, Jane is going through, the woman in red has stopped shushing the camera and has spun towards the door.

Elena’s fingers are flying over the keyboard as she breathes fast, faster. She is searching camera-views of the seventh floor, looking for Sabina’s fate. Elena is simultaneously keeping an eye on Jane’s unfolding situation. Elena doesn’t know what to do, how to help; she can only watch, helplessly. Information! She must gather intel. She must find …

… There! It doesn’t make sense. Sabina is in suite 701, the mirror of Jane’s 901. Instead of the weapon, it’s Sabina who is lying on the bed. The camera-view is a little grainy, but Elena is almost 100% sure that’s blood staining Sabina’s white tanktop. Oh God, oh God, Sabina’s been shot, she’s been shot, Oh God, Oh God …

Elena's eyes snap back to Jane who is round housing the woman in red.

Then back to Sabina who is rolling weakly on the bed, clutching her side. The woman in red in Sabina’s room is reprimanding? one of the goons, who has his gun out, pointed down at Sabina’s helpless writhing body. No, not writhing. Sabina is whipping herself up with some kind of martial arts recovery move (how?!) and is kicking the gun out of his hand with a rainbow sneaker. He is howling and turning to the side: Elena remembers belatedly that said sneakers are steel-reinforced. They just look pretty. So that Sabina will be underestimated and then …

… Kick your face in. Which is what Sabina appears to be doing with the second goon. The first is up again, backhanding her, and Sabina’s stumbling back across the room, avoiding the woman in red narrowly.

Elena’s eyes snap back to Jane who is standing over her woman in red’s motionless body, breathing heavily. Now Jane is picking up the target weapon, cleanly, crisply, carefully. Elena watches as Jane attaches it to a shoulder strap, brought for just this purpose. Then Jane is sprinting back to the lifts …

… Elena’s eyes snap back to Sabina’s room. The woman in red has Sabina in a headlock (surprisingly, how did that happen?!) and is hissing something into her ear.

“Now be a good girl,” comes over the comms. “I know you can, you little troublemaker. Call for help. Tell your friends…”

“Jane!” calls Elena urgently, watching as Jane’s lift descends. “Jane, it’s a trap!”

“I can hear,” says Jane, and she sounds so calm-not-calm. 

“Letgoofme!” That’s Sabina, huffing for breath and pulling weakly against the woman’s grip. Elena squints at the grainy camera-view. It looks like Sabina might be losing consciousness, maybe from lack of air. Maybe from blood-loss; it’s pretty sure she’s been shot. It’s hard to tell.

“Room 701,” Elena tells Jane, because she knows she can’t stop her teammate. The least Elena can do is give her good intel. “Two goons, big!, one looks unconscious, one is up but injured-maybe – he has a gun. Woman in red has Sabina in a headlock. No target-weapon in sight.”

“I have it,” Jane confirms, which Elena already knows. But there are two women-in-red so maybe there could be two target-weapons?! Just like that Jane is kicking suite 701’s door in, supremely bad-ass in Elena’s view. Elena thinks she might be having an anxiety attack, which is a first. Her breath is coming so fast, her heart is slamming up against her ribcage like it’s trying to escape and join Jane and Sabina. This watching gig is impossible. Elena has to help! She has to but she can’t …

Jane is in. She raises the target-weapon and points it straight at woman-in-red’s head. Belatedly the remaining goon raises his weapon to point at Jane, who ignores him.

“You’ll hit her,” says Red, not looking surprised in the least to see Jane, and referring to Sabina who is now slumped in the headlock, eyes half-closed.

“No I won’t,” says Jane. And she shoots. Twice.

Elena screams and stands from her chair. The screen goes blank; she has no idea what is happening.

“Whatthefuck?” Whoa, that mumble was Sabina. Their comms are still working! Sabina is conscious! Elena sits back down and types furiously. There must be a way to get the cameras working again …

“I shot the weapon.” Jane, deadpans.

The sound of retching fills the comms, and Elena winces, wrinkling her nose. The sight and smell of others vomiting usually makes her gag or even follow suit … thank God she can only hear this …

“Seriously, dude?” Sabina, mumbling but coherent. “We’re so gonna be in trouble…”

“We’re getting out first,” says Jane, not sounding perturbed. “Hold onto me.”

Then Jane and Sabina are in the hallway and Elena has eyes on her girlfriends again.

“Thank God!” Elena cries, heart fluttering out of her chest. “Jane! What happened?”

Elena watches with relief mixed with dread as Jane practically drags Sabina over to the lift. Sabina has an arm over Jane’s shoulders and is leaning against her, heavily.

“I shot them both,” says Jane, and her cool tone is a little too robotic for Elena’s liking. “Two casualties.”

“Two puddles,” corrects Sabina, sounding punch-drunk. “They freaking vaporised! Like a sci-fi movie!”

“Oh my God,” says Elena, just as shocked as she imagines Jane is, only Jane had to see that. Had to do it. “Vaporisation is possible?” Sabina laughs, wetly, and her tone is affectionate:

“Always the scientist.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Elena asks, and the calmness of her own voice makes her wonder if she’s going into shock. Vaporisation … shouldn’t be possible. Jane … just vaporised two people. Her Janey … One of those people, was two-of-those-people, or there were two of her? Or something. Wait a minute, those four goons looked awfully similar, what if they had been four-of-one? Elena's head whirls with possibilities.

“Here,” says Jane shortly, and sure enough the weapon is back on her shoulder-strap. Elena doesn’t know how Jane bears it. If that was Elena and she’d just vaporised living breathing humans – two of them – she’d have thrown the weapon out the window and would be rocking in a corner, screaming.

“Okay,” Elena says, calmly, crisply, professionally. “Double-time it to me. Let’s get out of here.”

“On it.” Jane.

“Puddles…” mumbles Sabina, as Jane props her up in the lift’s corner and presses the button for the ground floor. For Elena this confirms how out of it Sabina must be. Elena knows that Sabina is soft on Jane, as soft as she herself is, for God’s sake. Sabina with-an-ounce-of-sensitivity in her would pay attention to Jane’s unusual pallor and shaking hands; giveaways breaking through the edges of Jane's super-spy mask.

“Injuries?” Elena asks, partly because she knows cataloguing them will help her teammates get a grip, and partly so she can troubleshoot on her end. Elena watches as Jane checks Sabina over, quickly, professionally, while somehow also holding her up, since Sabina is listing despite having the corner to help her stay upright.

“She’s shot,” Jane bites out, clipped and impersonal. Jane rips off the bottom half of her wine-coloured shirt as a makeshift bandage, revealing her Angels’ issued bulletproof tanktop beneath. Elena bites her lip as Jane ties her erstwhile shirt around Sabina’s torso and pulls tightly. “Side of the torso, under her ribs. It’s missed her tanktop by an inch. Multiple other shots, but the tank caught them, so those will just be bruising.”

“Just bruising,” wheezes Sabina through a weak laugh. “Tell that to the truck that hit me.”

“Choke marks,” catalogues Jane, hands stroking lightly over Sabina’s neck, shoulders, collarbone. “Looks like a couple good hits to the face and head; blood coming from one ear. I think that’s it.”

“What about you?” asks Elena.

“I’m fine.” Clipped.

“Yeah, you are!” Sabina definitely sounds punch-drunk. She even reaches out to pinch Jane’s ass. More disturbingly Jane doesn’t stop her, doesn’t react at all.

“Sabina!” Elena cuts in, wanting to protect Jane’s invisible vulnerability and to protect Sabina from herself. “Report!”

“What?” Sabina sounds confused, as well she might. That order didn’t make sense.

“What floor are you on?” says Elena weakly, because she can’t come up with anything better in the spur of the moment. All her energy is diverted by watching Jane’s stony face. A wall.

“Ummm,” Sabina mumbles, listing forward a little, before being steadied back against the corner by Jane’s strong arms. “Two! No, one!”

It’s true. And it’s already false as the lift whirs down to the ground floor.

“All clear?” Jane asks Elena, voice level. Elena consults the security cameras. The lobby looks empty except for the concierge at the reception desk. No guests – or spy-types – in sight. She says the same. Even so, it’s going to be a problem, Jane getting an obviously injured Sabina across the lobby. The bloodstains are suspicious: Sabina's white tanktop is mostly red.

The lift door slides open. Jane’s finger slams the button for shutting it again, and hits the button for the fifth floor, and then for ground. Elena is impressed; quick thinking. Her own thinking feels treacly, like it’s coming out slowly. This is why Jane shines on their team: laser-like focus under duress. They all have their strengths, though right now Elena can’t quite remember what hers are supposed to be.

“Here, put this on.” Jane is shrugging out of her Matrix-style trench coat and helping Sabina put it on. This takes some doing, as Sabina’s eyes are now half-closed, breathing coming heavy. It mostly looks like Jane is dressing a Barbie doll (Rebel Barbie TM?), or attempting to. Elena watches in sympathetic silence; what else can she do?

The lift has made it back to the first floor, and Sabina’s arm is back over Jane’s shoulder. The trench coat hides the blood and the worst of Sabina’s injured state, and Jane has positioned her on the side away from the concierge.

“She’s drunk,” Jane says apologetically to the concierge, whose eyes follow them at first with polite surprise and then with polite judgment. “Day drinker.” Elena can’t suppress a snort of laughter.

“It’s true,” Sabina mumbles into the trench coat’s collar. “It’s all true.”

“Quick thinking, Jane,” says Elena with warm approval, mixed with relief. “I’m in the alley to the left of the front door. See you soon.” Elena’s already out of the van’s back with its computer and spy-gear setup, and into the driver’s seat, engine purring. She leans across to open the passenger door, and there is Jane, already, almost forcibly lifting Sabina into the cab, to sit in the middle position. Elena reaches across and helps drag Sabina in, huffing and puffing. Sabina is mostly no help at all. Her eyes are half open but Elena’s not sure Sabina's seeing anything.

Jane hops in a moment later and slams and locks the door, before helping Elena secure Sabina’s seatbelt. They both click their respective seatbelts into place, in tandem: a team, reunited. Then Elena floors the accelerator and they zoom down the alleyway, on their way to the main road and back to base. Nobody is chasing as far as Elena knows, but better safe than sorry.

Out of the corner of her eye Elena sees Jane carefully remove the target weapon (vaporiser?), before gingerly securing it on the dash to a modified weapons rack, muzzle pointed away from them.

“Puddles?” Elena can’t help asking Jane, voice shaking. Can it be true?

“Yes.” Jane doesn’t look at her. Jane's hands are folded in her lap, tightly.

“Puddles…” slurs Sabina, tilting to lean heavily against Elena who gently pushes her back towards Jane. Much as Elena longs to cuddle, she needs to drive, uncompromised. Elena sees Jane snake out an arm to secure Sabina by her side, and blinks her thank you to her girlfriend.

Jane nods back, too serious (even for her), avoiding eye contact.

“Even their clothes,” slurs Sabina, obviously picking up on none of Elena and Jane’s nonverbals. “Even the red dress. Like, nothing was left, comprendo? It was gross-tastic. Oh, except chunks. Like chunks of cereal.”

“Oh my God,” mutters Elena, because that is somehow worse … yet scientifically fascinating. Jane says nothing.

Then with a sharp crack the left passenger mirror explodes. Gunfire! They are being shot at! Elena’s eyes open as wide as they can. She floors the gas again, glancing urgently into the rear-view mirror. What the actual fuck?! Red-dress-woman? On a motorcycle? But she’s dead … twice … no, once … who’s keeping track?!

Jane has already retrieved her backup sidearm, a SIG-Sauer P250 Compact that lives in the glove compartment. Jane's seatbelt is off, window is down, and she’s professionally returning fire.

Surprisingly Sabina is also back in action. Sabina has clicked open the van’s sunroof and is already pushing herself up, much more clumsily than her usual agile self, a CTAR-21 assault rifle in hand – the emergency one that’s usually fixed under the seat. It’s the Angels’ getaway vehicles’ version of emergency life vests in an airplane: pursuer deterrents.

“Sabina!” cries Elena, because she is not convinced that Sabina should be performing heavy machinery right now, and then because she’s unable to act on it while escape-driving: “Jane!”

“Shit,” mutters Jane, and next second she rises up next to Sabina, skin-to-skin, wrapped around her girlfriend so that they can both fit through the sunroof (just). Jane holds Sabina supportively in place as Sabina fires her rifle, while reaching one arm around Sabina so that Jane can keep firing her sidearm. Bullets rain down on Red Woman.

Red is some driver, Elena can’t help admiring, from the little she can see in the rear-view. Red zig zags her bike impressively, somehow managing to avoid a quick and fiery death at the hands of avenging Angels. Or maybe it’s just that it’s supremely hard to hit a moving vehicle … Elena vaguely remembers learning something like that in training …

Elena veers around a corner, narrowly missing being hit by a postal van. Van on van, now that would be something. Adrenaline spikes, and Elena knows she’s achieving driving feats that aren’t possible on normal hormones. Come to think of it, that’s probably how Sabina is standing: the miracle of adrenaline.

“Got her!” cheers Sabina, and a quick glance in her side mirror confirms this for Elena. Red is down and in the dust, skidding off to the pavement while pedestrians scatter, screaming. Sabina is laughing wildly. Jane is poker-faced, from what Elena can see as she glances over: Jane has pulled Sabina back to a seating position and is kneeling over their girlfriend, buckling her in.

“Goddamn!” says Sabina, burying both hands in Jane’s hair and kissing her soundly. Elena grins; she can’t help it. Classic Sabina. Elena is only a little surprised that Jane, despite her shocked state, despite everything that’s just happened and is still happening, doesn’t push Sabina away. Instead, Jane freezes for long moments, and then sure enough, her hands are wrapping around Sabina’s neck, cradling her in place, and Jane’s kissing Sabina back. Fiercely, passionately, desperately. Elena is glad, so glad, and relieved, and ohmygod, very horny. Thank God, thank God, they’re going to be alright, Jane is going to be alright. Passionate spy-kisses for the win!

Jane is climbing off Sabina now, and buckling herself in. Jane and Sabina both look just-kissed and into-it. Elena side-eyes her girlfriends with amusement and tenderness.

Sabina fumbles with the assault rifle, attempting unsteadily to fix it back under the seat, and Jane reaches down to help her. Together they get it done. Jane reloads her sidearm but keeps it out.

“Pursuers?” Jane asks Elena, and good, she’s making eye contact. Elena flashes Jane a relieved smile.

“Nope.”

“I’ll pursue you,” flirts Sabina, shooting Jane a corny grin.

“You’ve already caught me,” Jane deadpans back and Elena laughs out loud. Sabina’s hand now rests on Elena’s thigh, and she can’t bring herself to shrug it away, even though professional driving is called for. Elena needs the comforting assurance that they are all here, all okay, still together.

“Ten minutes,” Elena tells her girlfriends, indicating the time it should take to arrive back at Angels’ headquarters.

“Ah good,” sighs Sabina. “I’m gonna get some shuteye.”

“No you’re not,” Jane pinches Sabina's thigh firmly, then smooths her hand over it and leaves it there. “Head injury protocol.”

“Oh yeah,” mutters Sabina. “I’m probably concussed. Again.”

“Yeah, probably,” agrees Elena. “You’ve said a lot of stupid stuff. Again.” Elena laughs, tenderly, and is joined by both Sabina and Jane.

“Don’t worry,” deadpans Jane to Sabina, “you can explain it away with the head injury.”

“Good, good,” grins Sabina, “because it’s totally out-of-character, you know that.”

“Yeah,” say Jane and Elena, in tandem, because they both love her (and each other) and this is a running joke, between them three. “We know.”

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

They pull up outside of headquarters ten minutes later, without further incident. Elena helps Jane slide a half-conscious Sabina out the passenger door: the adrenaline has worn off.  At least Sabina’s not unconscious; that’s something, a good sign even. Elena and Jane are doing their best to make sure it stays that way, asking Sabina annoying questions and nudging her when she closes her eyes.

Elena comes round the side of the van and wraps one of Sabina’s arms over her shoulders so that Jane can retrieve the target-weapon, with all due caution.

“Don’t point that thing at me,” mumbles Sabina. “Please.” It’s meant to be a (bad) joke, but she sounds nervous-serious. Elena gets it. This is a goddamn vaporiser. Elena still can’t believe it’s possible.

Jane carefully secures the weapon on her shoulder strap, and then gives the other shoulder to Sabina’s spare arm. Elena thinks that’s maybe a bad idea, but what choice do they have? Sabina’s at the point where they’re both going to have to support her to have a hope of movement. Oh wait …

“Jane,” Elena says firmly. “Give me the weapon. You carry her.” Jane doesn’t argue. Elena feels worried. Jane looks so tired; her face is strained. There’s a little line between her eyebrows that isn’t there often, but when it is, Elena’s careful to give Jane space. That can’t be done now, of course, and besides, Elena isn’t sure that space is what Jane needs. It might even be the opposite: The sudden shocking intimacy of Sabina and Jane’s ice-melting van-kiss, comes to mind.

Elena doesn’t want to touch it, but at the same time, the weapon feels powerful in her hands, and then resting on her shoulder by its strap. It’s something about knowing what it can do: remove a living organism from the world of the material and manifest. Break it down into its smallest components and return it to its organic basic units. Elena’s scared to be touching it, and scientifically fascinated, all at the same time. She wants to take it to the lab, lock the door, and spend the next few months studying it down to its basic units.

Jane has lifted Sabina into her arms despite Sabina's weak (too weak) protest, and Jane and Elena watch how Sabina's eyes close in relief as she nestles her head against Jane’s chest. They meet eyes across the space between them, in what feels almost like a kiss. Elena smiles, tender. Jane’s eyes soften. The two-of-them turn in tandem, heading for Bosley, and hopefully Saint, Jane staggering just a little from Sabina’s deadweight.

Five minutes later they are behind locked doors in a secured meeting room, blinds drawn, with the target weapon sitting in pride of place on the centre of a board table. Bosley 342, whom Elena knows real name is Rebekah, their Bosley, sits at the table’s head, lips pinched as she studies the weapon. Elena is slumped exhaustedly in a chair on one side of the table, beside Jane who is doing the same: the mission adrenaline is but a memory, now that they are safe.

Surprisingly Saint (their Saint, though Elena still doesn’t know his real name) has Sabina lying on the floor beside the table, examining her. Elena glances over, rubbing her forehead in concern. Why aren’t they going to medical? What is going on? She looks to Jane who raises a brow, mirroring Elena's concern. Together they look to Bosley.

“We’re compromised,” Bosley tells them curly, cutting straight to the point. Her blue eyes are anxious. “We don’t know who is who, anymore: this headquarters has been infiltrated.” Bosley runs a shaking hand through her platinum blonde hair. “Trust no one, Angels. Nobody but the people in this room.” Elena blinks. Is this a dream? Did Bosley just say what Elena thinks she said?

“The other Angels and Bosleys? The Saints?” asks Jane, slowly.

“Perhaps compromised,” says Bosley firmly. “Some of them for sure. But some, we just don’t know.”

“What about Sabina?” asks Elena, stupidly, “she needs the medical unit.”

“I’m sorry,” says Bosley, “we can’t risk it. She’ll have to get by on field medicine.”

“I’ll do my best,” says Saint. He looks pale but resolute. “This is an emergency, Angels. We’re going to have to pull together.”

“Pull my finger,” mumbles Sabina and Elena can’t help it, she starts laughing. Jane smiles tiredly, and Bosley gives them all a warm look. Elena knows she cares a lot for them; she is the Bosley they work with most often (though not exclusively), and she’s Elena’s preferred and most trusted Bosley. She helped Jane and Sabina recruit Elena (or they helped her), oversaw a large portion of Elena’s Angel training, and even used to be an Angel, just like them (the only Bosley who was formerly an Angel).

Similarly, Saint takes care of them on the body-mind-soul levels, and while Elena has met a few other Saints in passing, this is the only one she’s personally worked with. She knows he shares a long and friendly history with Jane, a longer history with Sabina, and an even longer history with Bosley 342. Mostly Saint patches up their physical injuries and helps these heal faster (some in record time), but he’s also a trained psychotherapist. He tries to make their lifestyles healthier (though of course he can’t force this), smooths team relationship dynamics (including between Bosley and her regular Angels, and between their threesome and the extended Angels’ team), and generally takes good care of them. Elena is grateful.

The next fifteen minutes is taken up with Bosley debriefing Elena and Jane on what she knows about the target weapon (which isn’t very much at all), and about the emerging crisis at  this headquarters (also not very much). Meanwhile Saint uses an Angels’ firstaid kit on Sabina, which while better stocked than your average kit, is still a far cry from an Angels’ medical unit. He cleans and bandages Sabina's bullet wound (it went clean through, just clipping her side; so lucky), successfully stopping the bleeding. He creams the liberal bruising (and has Elena use the same cream on Jane’s collection of bruises, though Jane's aren’t from bullet strikes).

Though both of their tanktops are removed during this operation, lack of available replacement clothes (let alone high-tech vests) means they are also put back on, blood, dirt, and rips notwithstanding. Elena winces; they’re all a mess, Sabina most of all. Sabina's tanktop is mostly bloody red, and edged with what might be a vomit stain. Her original shirt is missing-in-action since somewhere near the start of their mission. Jane’s left wearing half her wine-coloured shirt, displaying several large bruises across the dusky skin of her abs, side and back.

Elena watches as Saint cleans the disturbing line of blood from Sabina’s ear, checks her eyes, takes her pulse, listens to her breathing and chest. Sabina lies there and accepts it all, wisecracks conspicuously absent, eyes lidded, breathing heavier than usual but steady.

Elena watches all this surreptitiously, fighting to keep her anxiety at a low rumble rather than the roar it would like to stretch up into. When Elena glances over at Jane, she can tell that Jane’s in a similar predicament. Their hands intertwine underneath the table. Elena breathes out in relief, her shoulders slumping down as she relaxes a little. Just to be in physical contact with Jane is helpful. Today is … not a good day.

Bosley is ready to talk them through an action plan, and it includes Sabina: they need all their resources; the situation is that desperate. Saint helps Sabina over to the board table and sits her down in the empty chair next to Elena. Sabina slumps there, looking exhausted but aware of her surroundings. Saint moves a chair to Sabina’s other side, so he can sit beside her too, no doubt wanting to keep an eye on her unfolding condition. Elena carefully takes Sabina’s hand with her free one.

“Report,” says Bosley to Saint.

“Sabina, you’re okay for now,” says Saint, “under the circumstances.” He glares at all of them, just a little, dark eyes reproachful. “Understand that if this was a normal after-mission briefing, Sabina would be confined to our medical unit.”

Sabina gives a half-grin and nods. Elena squeezes her girlfriend's hand, flooded with relief when Sabina readily squeezes back. Beside her Jane sighs. Saint continues:

“But since it’s … not, well, the bleeding’s stopped from Sabina’s gunshot wound, and hopefully there’s no internal bleeding from the bullets that hit your vest. No lasting damage from that choke hold, I’m pretty sure; you got lucky. I must admit I’m worried about your head injury and probable concussion. We should all keep an eye on your symptoms. But there’s nothing more I can do or check at this time.” He glances over at Jane. “I’d like to check you out too.”

“Is that really necessary?” asks Bosley, a tad guiltily. “We’re running short on time.”

“Not necessary,” says Jane. “My bruises are just from taking a few hits. No gunshots.”

“Just, nothing,” says Saint firmly. “Hits can be …” He glances at Bosley’s glare and deflates. “Alright, alright. It can probably wait.”

“We have to retake this headquarters,” says Bosley, without further ado. “That’s our top priority, Angels. These are your mission instructions. Jane, you are on point. I want you to scout to this base’s heart and activate its self-destruct.”

Elena blinks in shock. Has it really come to that?

“Like, boom, blow us all sky high?” wonders Sabina. “That seems like overkill. Why don’t you just puddle people?” She nods at the target weapon, conspicuously displayed on the table.

“That would be overkill,” says Bosley, voice and manner tart. “You don’t just … puddle people. Vaporisation is a … final resort.”

Beside Elena Jane looks down at her lap. Elena clenches her teeth; she’s holding Jane’s hand and Jane is clenching it so hard that Elena wants to cry out. But she doesn’t. Jane needs her. Jane doesn’t know what she’s doing. Jane is upset.

“Tell that to Red Woman and Terminator, puddles 1 and 2,” argues Sabina, and Elena glares at her girlfriend, squeezing her hand hard in an attempt to shut her up. Sabina doesn’t appear to notice. God, why does Sabina have to be concussed-out-of-her-brains just now?

“What?” asks Bosley, nonplussed, and this, Elena knows, is because Jane and Elena debriefed Bosley by telling her that their foes were neutralised, not vaporised. ‘Neutralised’ which could conveniently mean anything from punched out to a puddle of goo. It’s a wide spectrum.

“Jane gooed them,” says Sabina, nonchalantly, as though she's talking about them being punched out. “She had no choice, Bos. I’d be dead, otherwise.”

And that at least, is true.

Elena watches as understanding enters Bosley’s eyes, and they widen slowly in horror. Elena watches as Jane studies her lap even more intensely. Elena’s hand-in-Jane’s feels like it’s breaking, but Elena says nothing, does nothing. Beside them Saint makes a noise that might be gagging. The silence drags on unbearably …

… and Sabina slumps out of her chair.

Saint hurries to lift Sabina back in. He is leaning over her, tapping insistently at her cheek until she opens her eyes.

“Wha'?” Sabina slurs, and Elena feels worry shoot through her. Jane’s hand has gone limp on Elena's (thank God), and she turns to wrap a comforting arm around Jane, ignoring how her girlfriend sits still in her embrace. Jane needs it. Elena needs it. Elena pulls Jane in a bit tighter, and feels her girlfriend breathe out unsteadily. And then slowly, ever so slowly, relax inch by incremental inch. Just a little. Not much. But enough that Elena can breathe out too.

“You’re okay,” Saint tells Sabina. “Just took a little spill. Now, stay awake. No sleeping, remember?”

“No sleepin’” Sabina repeats, sounding very sleepy indeed. “No sleeping on the job.”

“Sabina,” says Bosley, conspicuously not looking at Jane. “You are going to stay here and guard the weapon.”

“Can do,” says Sabina with a wink. It doesn’t come off as jaunty as usual, since her eyes are half-closed.

Bosley continues. “I’ll be Jane’s tech backup. I’ll have to sneak into Bosley 441’s office, just down the hall. It only has one computer, but that’s enough to connect me to the overall system and be Jane’s eyes-in-the-sky. I’ll have to keep an eye out for intruders on the network – be aware that I might have to bail, suddenly.” Bosley turns to Elena.

“You go with Jane, but once you get to the core, I want you to access the mainframe and delete all signs of Angels, whatsoever. It needs to be like we never even existed.”

Elena nods dumbly. It’s too much to take in. So much to process. No processing time. She feels like an automaton with very little power, trying to reboot and failing. No time, no time, very little info, no time.

“Saint, secure medical supplies and weapons,” orders Bosley. “Try the med unit in the west wing first; there should be less Angels around there, hopefully.”

“Cos it’s a dump,” mumbles Sabina.

“Exactly,” says Bosley, not batting an eye. “It’s less … up to date than the other units. We can use that to our advantage. There’s a small weapons closet outside it too. Take whatever you can carry.”

“And go where?” asks Saint, flicking a nervous glance in Sabina’s direction. Elena sees him shoot a concerned look Jane’s way next, which she herself wants to do, but Elena is doing her best to appear like she is not shutting down, and so can only stare straight-ahead in Bosley’s general direction, wide-eyed.

“Meet up with me,” instructs Bos. “If that’s not possible, fall back to Sabina’s location.” Saint nods once, terse.

“Alright people, it’s now or never,” says Bosley, at her most snappy-professional do or die. “We’re a go!” Bosley’s already out the door, on her personal mission, not looking back but trusting them all to carry out her orders. Elena feels herself dragged to a standing position by force of Jane’s hand.

“You’ll be okay?” Jane asks Sabina, sounding cool as cucumber. It’s a stupid question Elena thinks, but Sabina merely gives them a cheesy thumbs up, not bothering to get out of her chair. Or maybe Sabina can’t get out of her chair. It’s no wonder Bosley gave her the guard job; it’s literally the only job she can do.

Saint is nodding goodbye to them, fear in his beautiful eyes. Has Elena ever noticed before, just how lovely Saint’s eyes are? Deep and dark and … she shakes herself. Focus, focus. Elena needs to focus. Like Jane, GI Jane, come sun or rain.

“Be good,” Elena tells Sabina, who smirks at her. And then Elena and Jane are sneaking out the door, on their way to the heart of Angel’s HQ.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Sabina isn’t stupid. She knows when she’s being left out of a conversation, or a mission plan for that matter. Bosley telling her to stay here and ‘guard the weapon’ is most likely code for, ‘do your best not to pass out’. Even so, someone’s got to do it. Sabina eyes the weapon on the table suspiciously as though it might reach out and try to grope her. Who knows! This thing is lethal.

Her hazy mind spins back to the hotel and Jane levelling this very weapon at Sabina’s face as she gasped desperately for one. more. breath. No, Jane was pointing it at Red Woman’s head, since she was conveniently taller than Sabina whom she had gripped in a headlock ... but still their faces were close together. It certainly looked like Jane was pointing the weapon at her girlfriend. Sabina was finding it impossible to breathe past the forearm that was choking her, and increasingly hard to think. She stared down the barrel of the gun and her heart stopped.

“You’ll hit her,” said Red to Jane, and Sabina silently agreed with the enemy. Out of the corner of Sabina's eye she saw Terminator #4’s gun pointed at Jane, but she was too breathless to call a warning to her girlfriend.

“No I won’t,” said Jane, calm and cool and in control. And just like that, the gun went off. For a moment Sabina disappeared. Then Sabina was back, and she didn’t know what had happened, exactly. Her ears were ringing. The arm-vice that had been choking her was gone. Sabina could breathe. She did so, dragging huge gasps of blessed oxygen into her starving lungs. Then she realised she was on her hands and knees in a pool of … goo?!

“Whatthefuck?” Sabina had mumbled, terrified, confused, nauseous.

“I shot the weapon,” Jane deadpanned.

Sabina raised her eyes slowly to where Jane still stood, weapon now lowered, staring not at Sabina but at the floor, as though it was the most fascinating thing Jane had ever seen. Sabina’s eyes slowly tracked to where Jane stared, where another puddle of goo was spreading. It was mostly liquid, bloodred, but there were also appreciably noticeable chunks swimming in it. Bone? Gristle? Organ-meat? Was that a …. tooth?! Sabina threw up her guts and they mixed with the remains of Red Woman, whom she muzzily realised was the puddle Sabina was kneeling in. Terminator #4 must be the other puddle.

“Seriously, dude?” Sabina finally mumbled. “We’re so gonna be in trouble…” The number one parameter of this mission was to not fire the mystery weapon, no matter what. Well, mystery no longer! Goo-maker, only stronger.

“We’re getting out first,” said Jane, sounding unperturbed for all that she looked like her face had been replaced with a mask. Shock, thought Sabina, muzzily. Jane’s in shock; she knew her girlfriend in all her colours. This was Jane at her worst-yet-best, so far gone and yet still functioning at Mission Peak Performance. Sabina had only seen it a handful of times across their service together … things rarely got this bad, after all … And then Jane was helping Sabina up, pulling one arm over her shoulders and supporting Sabina’s weight almost fully. Sabina wiped vomit off her face with her other hand, and just went with it.

“Hold onto me,” said Jane, and Sabina did, gratefully.

Together they stumbled into the hallway. Or Sabina was stumbling; Jane was walking just fine. Sabina wasn’t sure actually, she just knew that she felt heavy and muggy and weak and wonky. But Jane was there. Jane’s warm body and superior height were comforting. Sabina could lean on her girlfriend’s strength, and relax somewhat. They were getting out of there. Fuck Sabina sideways, the Red Woman was goo. Jane gooed her! Fuck, oh, fuckity fuck! Elena’s voice filled her comms:

“Thank God!” Elena cried, sounding scared and relieved all at once. “Jane! What happened?”

“I shot them both,” said Jane, all cool and calm and in-shock-but-kicking-ass. “Two casualties.”

“Two puddles,” corrected Sabina, feeling drunk. It was so good to hear Elena’s voice! Her baby was cute! Jane was so bad-ass! Such a sexy ass! Oh my God, Sabina had been kneeling in goo. “They freaking vaporised! Like a scifi movie!”

“Oh my God,” said Elena, sounding shocked. And then, a beat later, all intellectual curiosity: “Vaporisation is possible?”

Sabina laughed, which hurt for some reason, and affection bloomed in her chest: “Always the scientist.”

“Where’s the weapon?” Elena asked, using what Sabina thought of as her ‘pro comms voice’. Sometimes Sabina teasingly asked for Elena to use it in bed; they’d had a lot of fun with roleplaying missions sexually, all three of them …

“Hello, Angel.”

With a start, Sabina blinks back to real-time; the boardroom. Oh fuck! While she’d been daydreaming, company had arrived.

“Angel,” Sabina acknowledges back, trying not to slur. The Angel in the doorway is one that Sabina has done more than a few missions with, mostly tag-team seductions, information grabs that required ‘two pretty young thangs’. Her name is Mandy Rainer and she’s straight as an arrow else Sabina’s sure they would have become friends with benefits at some point. As it is, Sabina and Mandy are good friends. They work well together. Their banter game is impeccable. And even better, their different tastes means that they almost never want to sleep with the same people when they go out clubbing together, so they make the perfect wing women.

Right now, Mandy is sporting a long platinum blonde wig; her true hair is red and shoulder length. Mandy’s wearing some kind of sexy-fied version of an airman suit in forest green. Way too much cleavage and way too body-hugging to be a real airman suit: Classic Angel Disguise. No visible weapons. Back from a mission, maybe? Or about to leave on one?

“You’re hurt?” says Mandy, sounding a little concerned. She's entering the boardroom and closing the door behind her, lock clicking into place. Hey, hadn’t that door already been locked? Had Mandy picked the lock? Bad Mandy! Bad bad Mandy!

Mandy’s eyes linger on the target weapon at the table’s centre. She raises an eyebrow at Sabina. “What the fuck are you doing, sitting here on your lonesome?”

“Fuck if I know,” says Sabina, eyeing Mandy carefully. Is Mandy, 'Bad Mandy'? 'Good Mandy'? On their side? Now an enemy? A frenemy? Fuck, today is confusing …

“What’s that?” Mandy gestures at the gun, way too casually to not-know what it is.

“What’s what?” asks Sabina. Really, she could do this spy-banter shit in her sleep. It’s her favourite part of the job. Well that, and the amazing adrenaline-fueled sex that explodes (implodes?) post-mission with her girlfriends …

Mandy grins at Sabina. They really do get on well. Compatible senses of humour and all that. Mandy reaches out to take the gun, but before she can, Sabina leaps to her feet and makes a grab for it.

Usually this would result in an agile pointing of the gun in Mandy’s direction, and some more slightly flirtatious and heavily fun, banter. Today it results in Sabina slumping down onto the table, body half over the gun, feeling stupid.

“You are hurt,” says Mandy, sounding sympathetic, or maybe it’s just amused. “And you’re totally into that gun.”

“We’re exclusive,” says Sabina, struggling to get back to a standing position. “You know how it is.”

“Gimme!” says Mandy, and suddenly all banter is gone. Before Sabina fully registers it, Mandy has made a dive for the gun, pushing Sabina to the side and off the table, and all with very little effort. “That was easy,” Mandy says, stroking her hands over the gun appreciatively. Sabina groans from her new position trying to push herself up off the floor:

“Don’t rub it in.” Mandy chuckles.

“You’re off your game, Bina. That was like taking candy from a baby.”

The nickname, more than anything, is what makes Sabina see red. Only a few people use it: her girlfriends, her close mission partners, her preferred Bosley and favourite Saint. Most only use it on special occasions or particularly meaningful moments: This is not an appropriate moment!

Sabina growls and flings herself at Mandy. Adrenaline spikes and gives her back physical abilities that have been on hiatus for the last little while. Mandy looks shocked as they grapple for the gun, tugging it back and forth, kicking and punching at each other in the meanwhile. Mandy attempts a headbutt which Sabina narrowly avoids, and then somehow Sabina’s steel-tipped sneaker has put a dint in Mindy’s shin, and the gun is Sabina’s. She leaps back, brings it up and around, points it at Mandy and:

Sabina can’t fucking do it. There is no way she can turn her friend into goo! Even if Mandy’s gone evil or rogue or whatever. Mandy’s hands are up placatingly, she looks shocked, she is frozen in panic. No, not frozen, she is backing away slowly …

Mandy doesn’t realise, twigs Sabina, still pointing the gun unwaveringly. Mandy doesn’t realise that Sabina can’t fucking goo her, shoot her, whatever. Sabina’s head throbs.

“I’ll just um, leave, shall I?” says Mandy, fumbling at the door’s lock. “Bina, don’t shoot…”

Sabina closes her eyes. Attempts to focus, to think through the throbbing. She’s on a mission! She has an objective. Sabina has mission partners who will be compromised if she doesn’t fulfil her objective … her girlfriends. Bosley and Saint. Her team. Mandy will go for backup. The target weapon is as good as gone, if Mandy escapes. The battle is as good as lost. Sabina has very little physical capacity right now, just enough to point and shoot. There are seconds to make a decision … maybe the worst decision of Sabina’s life …

Mandy opens the door.

Sabina pulls the trigger.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane is lying on their massive bed, propped up on their collection of lacey pillows that Elena insisted upon, watching her two girlfriends braid each other’s hair. Yes, really. No, she can’t believe it. Whose life is this? Hers, apparently. Her beautiful life.

It’s Elena’s turn to do Sabina, and the braids are small and tight because, let’s face it, Sabina doesn’t currently have a lot of hair. Her short spiky ‘do has grown out to what’s more like a lion’s mane, bleached and sometimes worn soft, sometimes spiked up. Elena’s brown locks are already sporting quite the braid collection; she looks like a Dothraki extra from tv show, Game of Thrones. Jane smirks. A hot extra.

“What are you thinking?” asks Elena, a little suspiciously. Jane smiles at her. Elena is cute, so cute. Jane has always thought so, but it’s only in recent times that she’s actually shown and expressed this openly. Only since their spy-partnership turned actual-friendship turned threeway-unspoken-romance turned “I want to take you on sexual missions” turned polyamorous-triad has been established. Jane always did like it better when relationship dynamics were clear cut and known.

“You’re cute,” Jane says easily, and lightly-flirtatiously. Elena beams. Sabina smirks at them both.

“OhmyGod, Janey,” Sabina cries, “you’re cute.” She laughs uproariously, then tries and fails to leap out the way of Jane’s retaliatory tackle. They wrestle on the bed, Sabina rolling on top. Her mini-braids hit Jane annoyingly in the face as they pant and writhe together, mid-battle, while Elena giggles nearby, making no move to intervene.

“No sentries in sight,” reports Elena, snapping Jane back to their current reality. She blinks in confusion. They are not in their bedroom, not safe and warm and laughing-teasing. Jane and Elena are outside the Angels HQ’s core, a secret and heavily protected room usually located in the most defensible position of each base. This base’s core is in the basement, and they are lingering at the security door, wondering if it’s safe to use their regular ID procedure to go inside.  

“Good,” says Bosley, over their comms. “Computer shows no one inside. Proceed.”

Jane watches detachedly as her own arm comes up and scans its fingerprints at the door’s security device. Then Jane’s body bends down so that her retina can be scanned. The door is opening, and Jane finds herself walking through. No alarm is going off, she notes coolly. Jane thumbs the handle of the large utility knife sheathed on her belt, a small reassurance.

“We’re in,” she reports for Bosley, and Jane’s voice sounds remote, faraway, even to her own ears. “We’re alone.”

“There’s the mainframe,” says Elena, and Jane watches neutrally as Elena crosses to it. Jane’s own eyes scan the room for the self-destruct console. There. Jane crosses to it and starts to press the lengthy sequence that they have all memorised by heart.

“Not yet!” snaps Elena. “Let me wipe this clean, first.”

Oh yeah. Jane’s fingers drop from the console. Elena’s mission objective has first priority. Wipe absolutely all signs of the Angels’ organisation from existence.

“Jane,” says Bosley over her comms. “Report.”

“Elena is in the mainframe,” says Jane, watching her girlfriend work across the room. "This room is secured.” Her eyes go to the locked door, and then scan the otherwise empty room. “I am at the self-destruct console, ready to go.”

“Good,” says Bosley, but she doesn’t sound pleased. If anything, her voice sounds almost teary. That’s strange, thinks Jane dazedly, that’s strange …

“The data is hiding,” says Elena, sounding stressed. “It’s like the Angels don’t even exist.”

“What?” Jane feels confused; nothing is making sense. She crosses the room quickly enough, standing alertly at her girlfriend’s side, peering over her shoulder. Jane watches Elena’s fingers fly gracefully over the keyboard – it always impresses her, Elena’s symbiotic relationship with all things tech. It’s beautiful to watch.

“That’s impossible,” says Bosley, over their comms.

“The data’s already wiped,” says Elena, “or worse, it’s been downloaded, then wiped. But it isn’t here.” Elena turns to Jane, and one of her hands comes up to brush Jane’s cheek, tenderly. “Sweetheart,” Elena says, and then catches herself, shuts up. No doubt remembers that Bosley is listening, and they’re on a mission.

Jane leans into Elena’s touch, anyway. She needs to, just for a moment. Jane needs to rest in her lover’s strength. Her own strength is waning; she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold it all together.  Elena’s eyes are bright and soft, very soft. Suddenly she steps into Jane, wrapping her arms around Jane’s waist, tightly. Jane’s arms automatically circle Elena's shoulders, hold tight. They breathe together. Long moments of nothing but breathing each other in and …

... a knock on the door.

“Angels, we have company.” Bosley’s voice is sharp and teary, all at the same time. Jane wonders if Bosley didn’t interrupt their embrace, deliberately. After all, Bosley has eyes down here – there are multiple security cameras in the core. Additionally, the Angels' trackers show up as blips on Bosley’s screen. She would have seen this tender moment, from multiple angles.

“Who?” bites out Jane, whirling out of Elena’s hold, smoothly yanking her knife from its holster with her left hand. Jane's right hand retrieves her Beretta APX pistol from where it was nestled at the small of her back. Beside Jane, Elena has liberated her own weapon, a Glock 19 which she aims with two hands wrapped around, squeezing tight.

“I can’t see them,” says Bosley, sounding frustrated. “They’re in the camera’s blindspot.”

Jane blinks. That means they know the building. Well.

“Aw crap,” Bosley sounds annoyed and upset, all at once. “Sabina’s on the move.”

“What?!” Jane’s voice is whip-crack-sharp.

“Her tracker,” says Bosley tersely. “I don’t have a camera-view, but she’s out of the boardroom. Looks like she’s heading downwards.”

“Towards us,” says Elena softly. Jane groans. Really, could this day get worse?

“Sabina! What are you doing?” Bosley’s voice is sharp. Jane wonders if she means them to be hearing this. Bosley on Angel-Technology (via their golden wings tattoos) has the ability to talk to each of them separately on comms so that communication is securely two-way, or to broadcast to them all simultaneously and have them broadcast to each other.

“Emergency,” says Sabina, slightly out-of-breath but sounding alert and … scared? “Mandy went rogue. I’m heading for the core and our girls. We should stick together.”

“Where’s Mandy?” asks Bosley, and Jane can hear typing in the background as Bosley presumably searches for a view of the boardroom. “Oh…” Bosley sounds a little sick.

“Yeah,” says Sabina uncomfortably. “Uh … I couldn’t stay there, Bos. My bad, my bad…”

Elena and Jane exchange looks. That doesn’t sound good. A knock comes on the door, again. It is louder than before, and it's only getting louder. It almost sounds like someone is using a …

“Battering ram!” gasps Bosely. “There’s two Angels, Angels. I can’t see who, from my camera angle. They’re using some kind of makeshift battering ram on the door…”

“We can hear!” says Jane. She looks around the room desperately. No way out! No other exits. Jane gestures rapidly to Elena, military-signs for 'you take that defensible position, and I’ll take this one.' She backs into one corner and upturns a heavy desk to be her shield. Elena is in the other corner, crouching behind a filing cabinet.

“Shit!” That’s Sabina, no doubt hearing the situation over comms-talk. “I’m on my way, two floors to go.”

“Rebekah?” It’s Saint’s voice over comms. “Let me in.”

“Saint!” Bosley sounds relieved. A few seconds later, she’s back on comms with them:

“Sabina. Where’s the target weapon?”

“Got it,” says Sabina. “I’m one floor away.”

“Whatever you do,” says Bosley, “do not shoot it. Do you hear me? Under no circumstances.”

“Um,” says Sabina guiltily, “too late, Bos.”

“Again!” says Bosley. “Don’t shoot it again!”

“Roger that,” Sabina’s voice is gravelly. “I’ll just shake what my mother gave me. I’m packing nothing.”

Jane smirks against her better judgment, and then the door is bursting open and two of their extended teammates explode inside, one leaping, the other rolling. Jane already has her right hand over the desk-barricade, firing coolly. She takes the leaper, trusting Elena to focus on the roller: it’s a rule between them three that in this kind of situation Jane takes the ‘highest’ target, due to being the tallest (because that’s easy to remember, and it makes sense for Jane’s superior strength to be paired against the larger targets). Elena takes the lowest, due to being the shortest (just!). Sabina takes the in-between. If it’s just two of them, they revert accordingly. Teamwork.

Leaper avoids Jane’s gunfire, somehow. She’s made it to the top of some shelving, and from her superior position she flings a series of small knives at Jane. Stifling a cry, Jane ducks behind her barricade. She hears the knives thunk into the wood and ping off the steel legs. Jane can’t see Elena, but she can hear her girlfriend's gunfire. Unfortunately, Roller appears to have a gun too, because the fire of a different weapon is being returned. Jane squints, scrolling through her expert weapons knowledge: an M1911A1?

“Take that!” Sabina’s familiar voice. Jane risks a glance around the side of the desk. It’s enough to make out Sabina’s completion of a baseball skid, the kind you do when you’re sliding into home base, hoping you make it before they tag you out. Only Sabina is skidding into Roller’s knees, from behind; Roller was kneeling, shooting in Elena’s direction. Sabina connects and Roller goes rolling. Sabina fist pumps, even in her lying down position. Jane rolls her eyes, instinctively. But inside, she’s cheering too.

The timely distraction is enough for Jane to pop back over the desk and fling her utility knife up at Leaper. Jane recognises Magda, a tall and robust angel that Jane has teamed up with on the occasional mission, too late. Jane’s knife is already sticking in Magda’s throat, right in the hollow of her neck: a perfect hit. Well, a perfect hit if you’re looking to kill, which is something Angels traditionally avoid doing (especially each other!). But Jane is on autopilot now, emergency setting: do whatever it takes to get the mission done. Jane watches, shell-shocked, as Magda keels off the shelving, bone limp as she falls. She hits the ground hard and lies motionless in a rapidly spreading pool of blood.

Jane’s body takes over for her fritzing brain. She glances back to her teammates, raising her Beretta APX into shooting position, ready to assist.

Sabina is on top of Roller, whom Jane now recognises as a Japanese Angel that she’s never worked with, but has stumbled through a few polite conversations here and there. Jane’s pretty sure Sabina has done quite a few missions with this Angel though and is even friends with her, and that this Angel teamed up with Elena for a tech job as recently as a couple months back. 'Sakura', is that her name? Sabina is grappling with Sakura fiercely as both try to gain the upper hand. Jane makes out Sabina’s left hand holding Sakura’s pistol-wielding right hand by the wrist, trying to keep it out of action.

The pistol fires, and Jane ducks, shocked. The bullet flies off wildly; they are all okay. Elena has made it out from behind the filing cabinet and is pointing her Glock with two shaking hands, moving it rapidly as she tries to line up a shot that will take out Sakura, presumably non-lethally. This is proving next to impossible with Sabina currently on top. Jane watches the action with eagle eyes. There! An opening!

Jane’s body dives into the fray. She leaps on top of both Angels, and reaches around Sabina with strong arms, to dig her fingers into the sides of Sakura’s neck. It’s hard to apply enough pressure to achieve one of Jane's infamous ‘sleepy time’ chokeholds from this angle, if not impossible. But she can get part of the way. Sabina seems to know it’s her, judging by her harshly huffed:

“Jane!” Sabina seems to be focusing on keeping Sakura’s gun-toting wrist out of action. Sakura’s struggles are losing some of their power, thanks to Jane’s partial chokehold. Sabina manages to get some leverage and starts banging Sakura’s gun-hand against the ground: one, two, three … the gun is skittering free, sliding across the room. Elena leaps to retrieve it. Sabina rolls to the other side, leaving Jane free to apply her chokehold, properly. Jane watches as the light drains out of Sakura’s frenzied brown eyes. Her eyelids drop: she’s unconscious.

Jane is helped to her feet by Elena, and they both help Sabina up.

“Well done, Angels!” says Bosley, breathlessly.

“That was some fight.” Saint, admiring, if worried.

“All in a day’s work, right, angel cakes?” winks Sabina, swaying on her feet, adrenaline-boost clearly on the way out. “That’s why we make the big bucks…” Her voice drops to a grumble … “only we don’t.”

“Good work is its own reward,” jokes Elena, smiling like the sun. She wraps a supportive arm around Sabina’s waist and looks at Jane expectantly.

Jane knows it’s her turn to make a quip, and she even has one on the tip of her tongue. But it fades away to nothing before she can vocalise. Jane's body is ready-to-go and revving with adrenaline, but her mind has left the building.

Her girlfriends both frown at her.

“The self-destruct sequence,” says Bosley. “We have no other choice, Angels.”

“Screw that,” says Sabina. “There’s no way blowing us all up is the…” her fingers make quote marks … “'solution'.”

“We have no choice,” repeats Bosley, quiet and sad.

“Why?” asks Sabina.

“Why?” echoes Elena, nervous but supportive.

Jane wonders why herself but doesn’t have the energy to say it. They haven’t exactly received good explanations for this shit-show of a mission. Worst intel ever, as Sabina would put it.

“This is a total shit-show,” says Sabina, as though she can hear Jane’s thoughts. “C’mon, girlfriends, let’s blow this popsicle stand.” She staggers towards the exit, grabbing Elena’s and Jane’s hands on the way.

Jane allows herself to be dragged, not that Sabina in her current state could force anyone to go with her. Jane is thinking or at least trying to think. Her eyes dart everywhere, cataloguing the state of the mission, gathering intel. The devil’s in the details, the devil’s in the details: the devil. Jane's eyes fall on the mystery weapon, strapped to Sabina’s shoulder. This seems to be the prize that everyone is fighting for, that several people have died for, on both sides. Maybe this weapon is what needs to self-destruct, not the Angels’ HQ. Jane pulls her hand easily from Sabina’s weak grasp and slips the weapon off her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“Jane!” Elena sounds shocked. “What are you doing?”

“Jane!” echoes Bosley and Saint in tandem. Sabina’s mouth is open, but then it snaps shut and she looks from Jane to the weapon and back again. A crafty gleam enters her eyes.

“Do it, babe,” Sabina says.

“Do what?” asks Elena.

“Don’t do it!” Bosley.

Jane holds the gun in front of her, perfectly balanced between both hands. She feels into the centre of its gravity and assesses the quality of its construction. Yeah, she can do this; she’s got this. Jane gathers her body’s energy, preparing for the second she’ll unleash it, full force. Meeting Sabina’s knowing eyes Jane brings her knee up sharply – a martial arts move – and slams the gun down at the same time. That’s going to bruise…

What used to be a functioning vaporiser clatters to the floor: two useless halves. Jane, Elena, and Sabina all stare at it. Then Jane finds her combat boots stomping, hard, as hard as she can, again and again, converting the metallic remains to smithereens. She keeps going and going for she doesn’t know how long, filled with a kind of unfocused rage that she doesn’t recognise and can’t turn off. Jane wants to scream but she is silent; the only sound is the crunch of twisting metal and thud of her boots. Finally, she feels a gentle hand on her shoulder, instinctively recognising it as Elena’s. Somehow, this stops Jane instantly.

“Dude, it’s dead.” Sabina smirks at Jane, but her eyes are worried. Elena’s hand squeezes Jane’s shoulder supportively.

“They’ll just make another one,” says Bosley slowly. Her tone sounds like she is thinking, hard.

“Will they?” asks Elena, and it’s rhetorical. “The computer is wiped. There’s no data there. No weapon plans.”

“Because this weapon was created by the Angels,” says Sabina, angrily. “Wasn’t it?”

Radio silence. Jane wonders how Sabina knows this. Sure, Sabina is a lot smarter than she lets on, a lot smarter than she seems. They all know Elena is smart, genius-level smart. She, Jane, has instincts-smarts. That’s different, but it’s an asset to their teamwork, and it’s her role to play. Jane doesn’t know how she knows what she knows, but she knows it, she knows it with her body, and she acts on it, fast and clean. Jane does what’s needed.

That’s why the target weapon’s remains lie unrecognisable at their feet, even though Jane didn’t know exactly why that needed to happen.

“Bos?” says Sabina, still angry. “Don’t be a little chickenshit. We know you’re there.”

“Language,” says Bosley, but she doesn’t sound angry, only sad, and maybe even guilty. “Yes, Angels. We created this weapon; our greatest mistake to date.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” demands Sabina, always short-of-fuse and quick to anger. Jane watches calmly. It’s not like she isn’t pissed too. It just isn’t her priority right now; safety is. Getting them all to safety, matters more. Jane meets Elena’s eyes and sees that they are on the same page. A quick military hand signal and they take up Sabina’s arms in tandem, steering her along with them as she continues to argue with Bosley over comms.

“I couldn’t,” says Bosley, and she sounds upset. “I was ordered not to; all the Bosleys were. Once Charlie realised what had happened and how wrong it had all gone … what with the damage the vaporiser could do – we never expected that when we developed it!” Bosley’s voice is coming faster and faster, growing hard to understand:

“We wouldn’t condone vaporisation! – and then the Bosleys’ in-fighting and breaking into factions over what should be done with the weapon; nothing corrupts like the taste of unlimited power. Some of them even broke Charlie’s silence and roped their Angels in. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the Gustavian Crime Syndicate somehow found out … and stole the weapon: we were all on damage control. We still are!”

“Hey, Bosley…” Saint’s voice breaks in, gentle. “Calm down, Rebekah. Can you take a deep breath for me?” Bosley just keeps talking, voice dripping with guilt, and something like desperation:

“Please, Angels, that’s all I can tell you; I shouldn’t even have told you that…” Bosley trails off, and now Saint is coaxing her through a few deep breaths. Jane looks to her girlfriends for guidance; her feelings are on hiatus. Elena looks teary.

“Well, weapon’s gone bye-bye,” says Sabina pragmatically, the edge already off her anger, which is in keeping of what Jane knows of her girlfriend’s rapid mood swings. “So, all’s well that ends well … apart from the puddles, and PTSD and how come there were multiple Red Women? I really don’t get that…”

“I can’t tell you,” says Bosley, less guilty-sad, more professional-firm.

Charged silence.

“Let’s go home,” says Elena, steering them all towards the door. Elena’s hand reaches to reassuringly smooth down Jane’s back, as they both support Sabina down the hall.

Jane has never heard a better idea in her entire life.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Two months later, they are all lying in their massive bed, binge-watching hit tv show, Game of Thrones. Elena enjoys gazing directly at her girlfriends, happy to take advantage of this rare opportunity of them both being sufficiently distracted that she can get away with it. Elena isn’t much of a fan of this show herself, but Sabina is batshit for Jon Snow (go figure; it’s doesn’t make sense to any of them, even to Sabina) and Jane ships Daenerys Targaryen with everyone … except Jon. Historically this is the source of endless good-natured bickering between Sabina and Jane, usually only resolved when they start making out.

Elena supposes that the show is exciting, in its own way, but it’s just so dark and depressing and everyone always dies, horribly. Don’t the Angels have enough of that in their real lives, at least lately? Elena wants to watch something cutesy and light, like Saturday morning cartoons or romantic comedies.

Still, after their recent ‘#MissionDisaster’ as Sabina has coined it, Elena is willing to watch as much of Game of Thrones as it might take to make either or both of her girlfriends feel better. They are all on paid shore leave for an undisclosed amount of time: the Townsend Agency’s way of admitting that their last mission was … well, the less said about it, the better. Elena’s still not exactly sure what happened or why; ‘need to know’ remains Bosley’s mantra. But at least The Agency seems to be in full-steam recovery-mode, and there isn’t any more (disturbing) talk about blowing their local Angels HQ up.

Sabina is mostly recovered, physically. Her concussion has healed; they got lucky, a few bad nights at home after she spent a couple days at the Angels medical unit, some upsetting (for Elena and Jane) confusion (not for Sabina, she was too out of it), and then a lot of sleeping. Sabina’s liberal bruising is mostly gone, as is Jane’s. Sabina’s bullet wound is just a(nother) scar. But there’s something a little off about the way she avoids certain topics that she never did before and laughs too long and loudly at off-colour jokes.

In the same-yet-different way, Jane is too silent, too often for Elena’s liking. Jane’s face goes blank and stays blank and keeps staying that way, at weird and unexpected times. She doesn’t laugh at Sabina’s jokes as much or else laughs in the wrong places. Jane’s body is often tense and tight, on hyper-alert even when all they are doing is lying in bed. Elena knows Sabina notices and worries too - she is not so far gone that she can’t pick up on Jane’s trauma load.

Because that’s probably what it is, thinks Elena, worriedly. Some kind of PTSD from that stupid mission. She herself has gotten off the lightest. Maybe it’s a protective mechanism from worrying about her girlfriends, or maybe it’s just that she had an easier time of the mission physically and emotionally. Or maybe it’s that Elena didn’t end up turning people into puddles like her girlfriends did, or seeing it happen right in front of her. Yeah, that’s probably what it is.

“Oh Khaleeeesi!” mimics Sabina, voice high-pitched and mocking, as the episode they’re watching cuts to credits. “You are so beautiful and perfect. We all want to sleep with you. Ride us like you ride your Khal and all his Bloodriders, oh!” she cuts off because Jane has rolled on top of her.

“You were saying?” Jane deadpans. Sabina smirks up at her and rolls her hips, invitingly. Elena feels her mouth go dry. She must admit she likes to watch her girlfriends, a lot. Like, a lot a lot. Jane smirks back and leans down as though to kiss Sabina - then freezes. Elena holds her breath, and it looks like Sabina is doing the same. They’ve had quite a few experiences of ‘suddenly freezing Jane’ lately, and if they’re not careful, this could end in injury.

“Janey, baby?” Sabina hushes out eventually, when they’ve waited for what seems like an age. “You home?” Jane blinks slowly at Sabina, oh so slowly. Elena reaches out a hand towards Jane unthinkingly, wanting to help …

… and finds herself sideswiped off the bed, as Jane blindly turns on her, backhanding her forcibly.

“Whoa, whoa!” yells Sabina, leaping off the bed to Elena’s aid. “Not cool, babe!” she yells at Jane, clearly on autopilot herself. Sabina leans over Elena, helping her up.

Jane is on her feet, on the opposite side of the bed, breathing heavily. She is wild eyed yet blank faced. Elena recognises the look because she first saw it during #MissionDisaster, only then it was directed towards their enemies. She has seen it several times over these past months, directed towards herself or Sabina.

Sabina’s hand strokes down Elena’s face, assessing for injury. She looks angry and worried. “That’ll bruise,” she mutters, and Elena silently agrees. It’s already bruising; she can feel it. Jane didn’t pull that punch, not one bit. Elena’s face stings, her heart even more so.

“Jane?” Elena tries, relieved that the bed is currently between them. “Janey.” She makes her voice soft, and affectionate, and waits.

Elena knows that Jane will come back to them; she always does. Elena is much more patient than Sabina; they have all discovered this a hundred times over during the course of their teamship, but especially over the last eight months that their romantic-sexual relationship has been official. Both Jane and Sabina say it’s a strength, and something their triad sorely needs. The two-of-them joke that if they’d gotten together as a couple, they’d have killed each other by now … and though they’re joking, all three-of-them sense there might be truth to it. Somehow, it’s the equation of all three-of-them, that pops out the right answer.

Beside Elena, Sabina fidgets restlessly. Elena reaches out without looking and takes her girlfriend’s hand. Sabina settles down. Elena has discovered that affectionate touch grounds Sabina, more often than not. Sexual touch too for that matter - only that’s more about dulling the edge of Sabina’s sometimes-mania, in a way that is very pleasurable for all of them (and much more pleasurable than said mania, running unchecked and spilling everywhere chaotically).

Jane blinks. Jane’s eyes are less wild, assesses Elena. But still unseeing.

“Jane,” she says again, soft, sure, expectant. Jane blinks. Then focuses. Her eyes focus on Elena’s, and Elena feels the ping of the moment that she truly feels Jane’s gaze meet hers, thrill up her spine. It’s a bit like the first time they kissed, which Elena had waited for forever: Jane leaning down slowly, and pressing her lips oh-so-softly to Elena’s* …

“Elena.” Jane is back. Elena recognises her girlfriend’s tone: soft with subtle self-loathing, alert, aware. She crosses to her before Jane can get too in-her-head: that’s vital. Elena burrows straight into Jane’s chest, knowing this will (hopefully) avert said crisis. Her arms wrap around Jane tightly and she snuggles: there isn’t really a better word for it. This is deliberate, for all that it’s also exactly what Elena wants to be doing. It’s the equivalent of a cute and helpless puppy rolling over and showing its belly, wriggling all over, begging you to pat it. What could show more trust? What could say more clearly, by extension: you are safe; I want you; be here with me now.

After a long pause, Jane’s arms come up around Elena. Jane sighs, breathing out. She relaxes. Sabina has joined them now and is wrapping her arms around them both. The three-of-them stand together for an indeterminate time, while Game of Thrones’ next episode auto-plays unwatched in the background.

“We’ve got to talk about it,” Sabina says finally. Her voice is strained, which Elena knows means her girlfriend would rather do anything else. But Sabina is brave in a way that most people don’t see. She throws herself into danger when it’s for the sake of the people she loves. And she loves Jane and Elena; that’s indisputable.

“You’re right.” Jane is clipped and cool. Elena knows this means Jane would also rather do anything else. But at the same time, she will complete the mission, do whatever it takes to get them home safe. And God help them all, what it’s going to take this time is an emotional talk about their collective trauma.

They haven’t talked up until now. Well, that’s not entirely true … they’ve certainly tried. One or two of them have hesitantly opened the door when the opportunity’s come up, but so far, they haven’t walked through as a threesome, and that’s what’s been needed. They are a team after all, a group relationship. And they are all deeply affected by this.

“Thank goodness,” sighs Elena, and she feels both her girlfriends pulling back to stare at her. “I really need us to talk about this,” she adds, and sees them exchange guilty glances. “None of that!” she bats lightly at them both. “Let’s go talk in the kitchen. I’ll make hot chocolate.”

This is a calculated move. Elena would rather not have their Snuggly Bed-Fortress (her term for it, and she’s the one who insists on their pretty lace pillows and luxurious bedding) be associated with emotionally intense angst-fests. The kitchen will serve that purpose well enough, since the multiple memories of delicious food are sure to overcome any lingering angst vibes. Or at least that’s how Elena views the situation, and her girlfriends have agreed that she knows much more than them about these kinds of things.

“Mini marshmallows, many!” calls Sabina, seating herself on a counter stool at their kitchen bar. “Cream for days!”

“I know, I know,” mock grumps Elena, grinning at her girlfriend. “You’re three years old.”

Jane grins, which looks good on her after all the serious. She perches across from Sabina, and accepts her hot chocolate (sans marshmallows, sans cream) from Elena who sits at the counter’s head: they’re in triangle formation, equidistant. Elena insists that it’s good Feng-shui, but that’s just something she says (she couldn’t know less about Feng-shui). To her, it’s just common sense when you’re in this kind of three-way dynamic.

Elena pops a solitary marshmallow (normal sized) on her own creamy (but less creamy than Sabina’s) concoction, and smiles at her girlfriends:

“Mission is a go.”

Sabina grins nervously:

“Fuck me.”

Jane smirks and Elena laughs a little. They know what Sabina means. This talk is terrifying.

“I’ll begin,” says Elena, drawing on her courage. “You both are … different, since #MissionDisasater.”

“Yeah,” says Sabina sadly, stirring her small mountain of mini marshmallows into her mostly-cream. “That’s fair.”

“Yes.” Jane sounds serious and looks it too. “I know it’s hard on you, Lena.”

Elena nods even though it pains her to do so. Gathers courage to admit:

“Yeah, it is.”

Silence.

“What should we do?” wonders Sabina finally. “I mean…” she scrunches her nose. “I guess there’s, therapy?” She says it like it’s a dirty word.

“You don’t like therapy?” asks Elena curiously. It’s something they all are semi-regularly mandated to do, courtesy of working for The Angels. Elena is fine with it herself. It feels good to vent to a Saint (especially her favourite Saint), to bare her soul and release her tears, and even ask for advice (not that advice is usually forthcoming; all the Saints seem to believe that ‘the answers lie within’).

“I couldn’t like it less,” mutters Sabina, not looking up from her ceaseless stirring. Elena instinctively places a hand on Sabina’s restlessly twitching knee, and she smiles as she notices Jane doing the same on Sabina’s other knee, in perfect sync.

Sabina glances at them, moist-eyed. Elena sees that her girlfriend is struggling to speak, and she rubs her hand comfortingly up and down Sabina’s thigh. Jane’s hand rests on Sabina’s shoulder now. For all that Jane is much less touchy than Sabina and Elena (who are both naturally very touchy-feely), Jane almost always responds with touch when Sabina is distressed. To Elena’s romantic soul, that seems like love.

“It’s just…” Sabina mumbles something that Elena can’t quite make out, and when they both make eyes at her, she speaks up: “when it’s about fucked-up shit it’s … stupid. Pointless. Painful. I hate how painful it is. Y’know? It’s like dredging up pain for no good reason, and then, what am I supposed to do with it, huh? It’s better just to let it sleep.”

Elena feels her heart melt with compassion. She knows Sabina has led a hard life, and that her ostensibly privileged background hides some sleeping traumas that Elena only has an inkling of; she is unsure exactly how much Jane knows. Maybe more than Elena - Jane and Sabina have known each other longer and achieved a closeish friendship before they each opened to Elena. Sabina avoids talking about her past, as a rule, even with coaxing. What little Elena does know has emerged as unthinking quips or when Sabina is drunk or through other people’s telling comments. Though there was that time on Elena’s first mission (before she was an active Angel) when Sabina had volunteered that she’d grown up ‘on the corner of powerless and ashamed’. Elena now realises Sabina said that purely to comfort Elena, and it means that much more in hindsight. Elena looks to Jane.

Jane looks back, soft-eyed.

“I agree,” she says, and both Elena and Sabina stare at her. “Therapy is just waking up pointless pain, that’s better left asleep.”

Elena blinks. This isn’t how she was hoping this talk would go. Not that she’s therapy’s number one fan or anything, but she has a feeling that Sabina and Jane’s matching attitudes are more trauma-related than directed by ‘what would actually be good for them’. Still, she isn’t about to coerce her girlfriends into anything. It has to be their choice.

“Okay,” Elena says softly. “No therapy then.”

Sabina looks relieved. Jane a little surprised - maybe she was expecting Elena to argue.

“Let’s gather intel,” Elena decides, thinking it through, aloud. This is a mission, after all. If they’re going to solve it with teamwork, maybe they should approach it like they would an Angels’ mission …

Sabina perks up.

“Great idea, babygirl. Hmm, so, threats?”

Jane squares her shoulders.

“Me. I’m a threat.”

“No!” rips from Elena. Sabina pushes Jane lightly on the shoulder, teasingly:

“Don’t be a moron.” Sometimes Sabina knows how to handle Jane much better than Elena ever could. Something about Sabina’s calloused touch: no kid gloves, no pulling her punches. Elena’s soft touch can be too soft, which somehow causes too much pain to be bearable. Sometimes though, Elena’s way is what’s needed, and Sabina’s way only causes endless and repeat conflict. They all need each other: that’s how Elena sees it.

“Shut up,” Jane bites back, but there’s no teeth to it. Elena senses that Sabina’s approach is right for this moment. She’s relieved the three-of-them are tackling this together.

“Don’t get me wrong, there are threatening behaviours,” Sabina goes on, deliberately patronising. “Y’know, that you and me are doing around,” she makes side-eyes at Elena, “poor innocent bambi-kins.”

“Sometimes,” Elena corrects, softening the blow. “You both do them sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Jane mutters under her breath, and Elena fears for a moment that they’ve lost her. It’s touch and go …

Sabina reaches out and shoves Jane again, none too softly.

“We’re not the threat,” Sabina emphasizes. “The behaviours are.”

Jane raises an eyebrow. Drolly:

“That sounds like therapy talk.” Sabina grins at her:

“That’s some good therapy shit right there. You’re totally right, I stole that from all those years of forced therapy. My family’s money put to good use.”

Elena takes note and tucks this detail of Sabina’s past away for safekeeping. She’s been gathering them up one by one by one, as they emerge. One day, she’ll know all of Sabina’s past and she’ll love her girlfriend just as much as she loves her now, only she’ll know her history better. Elena already knew that Sabina’s parents made her go to assorted shrinks … but not that it had been for years.*

Jane rolls her eyes, but Elena rather thinks from the sudden sharpness of her gaze that Jane might be cataloguing Sabina’s dropped-fact too.

“Great,” says Elena, seeking to steer them all back on track. “So there’s some threatening behaviours that happen sometimes. And that’s what this mission needs to address.”

Jane narrows her eyes, and Elena feels nervous. Jane’s voice is a little too chill when she speaks:

“What are these behaviours, exactly? When do they occur? What are the stimuli?”

“Great questions, boo,” Sabina purrs, “we’ll be mission-ready in no time.” Elena is once again glad Sabina’s present. She can practically feel Jane’s sharp-edged nerves settle, just a little, just enough to keep this conversation rolling productively.

“Behaviours!” Elena catalogues. “Uh,” she glances at Sabina; probably best to start with her. Sabina’s more open than Jane, just now. “Well, Sabina sometimes has nightmares, like really bad ones. She sometimes laughs for a very long time, and I’m sorry, sweetie, but it’s just not funny what you’re laughing at…”

Jane smirks and Sabina sulks.

“Sabina sometimes stops talking mid-sentence and stares at nothing. For ages.” Elena stops and assesses her girlfriends nervously. Jane is nodding slowly. Sabina is fidgeting with her hot chocolate. So far, so good.

“The other day,” says Jane to Sabina, “you were curled up in a ball on the couch when I came in.”

Sabina raises her eyes slowly, looking mortified. She drops them almost straight away. Elena reaches out to stroke her girlfriend’s side, only glad that Sabina doesn’t pull away.

“You were shaking and sweating,” Jane continues mercilessly or is it robotically? Elena glances at her girlfriend worriedly; she can’t quite tell when Jane takes this particular tone. “I tried to talk to you, but you didn’t seem to hear me.”

“Sorry,” says Sabina. Jane’s hand goes to Sabina’s chin and gently lifts her face. Elena relaxes; this is good. Jane is fine - she is reaching out to Sabina.

“What was going on?” asks Jane, point blank.

Sabina meets Jane’s eyes steadily, but her jaw shakes a little in Jane’s grip.

“I-I’m not sure. I don’t remember it too well.” She shrugs and her voice cracks. “I think maybe a … flashback. Y’know. To a … p-puddle.”

Jane stares at Sabina. Her hand still gently holds Sabina’s chin. Then unexpectedly, Jane leans in and presses a soft kiss to Sabina’s lips. Elena watches in wonder as Sabina’s jaw stops quivering, and she kisses Jane back. Beautiful.

Jane leans back, lets Sabina go. They watch each other, and Elena watches the two-of-them. She loves them, loves them, loves them so …

“Thank you,” says Jane finally. “You’re so fucking brave, Bina.”

Surprisingly, Sabina blushes, hard. Elena feels herself smile wide with delight. Jane’s tender eyes go mirthful.

“Ooh, who’s a little cutie,” Jane teases, digging one finger into Sabina’s dimple. “Look who’s all red!”

“Shut up!” bites out Sabina, but she isn’t really upset, Elena can tell. If anything, Sabina’s really really happy. And oh yeah, totally embarrassed too.

Jane takes a deep breath and goes serious. Her British accent is a little more clipped than usual.

“Look, all that happens to me too. Doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” confirms Elena, sooo glad that Jane somehow is aware enough to admit it, because it means that Elena doesn’t have to point it out.

“And…” guilt fills Jane’s eyes, “even more?”

“More often than me,” says Sabina. Her eyes flicker to Elena to check. “At least, I’m pretty sure…”

Elena nods confirmation.

“And also,” Sabina goes on uncomfortably, and now she is shifting in her seat like she’d rather be anywhere else, “you sometimes ah, y’know…” her voice fades into an inaudible mumble.

“Hit you,” says Jane. Loudly, firmly. Both her girlfriends’ eyes snap to her, shocked. For a moment Jane looks angry, defiant, and then … terribly guilty. “I’m sorry,” she says, dropping her eyes in what Elena guesses is shame. Elena’s heart turns over in her chest. It hurts so much.

Silence, stretching between them.

“Yeah, babe,” says Sabina, eventually, super-awkwardly. “Accidentally, y’know? It’s a flashback, right - you think you’re back there?”

“Yes…” Jane’s eyes are distant, and they both watch her with bated breath. Unable to resist her impulse to comfort, Elena reaches out to take Jane’s hand - though she’s fifty-fifty on whether it’d be better to give Jane space. Sabina hesitantly does the same with Jane’s other hand, and together they wait …

“Yes,” repeats Jane finally, squaring her shoulders, visibly gathering herself. She is with them again. Safe in the kitchen. They are all holding hands. Elena smiles at Jane, flooding with pride. She sees similar pride in Sabina’s eyes, mixed with what looks like relief. Jane glances between them both, looking pained. Her eyes linger on the bruise already forming on Elena’s face.

“So, I don’t know it’s happening, until it’s happened,” she says brusquely in a rush, and they all nod, because that’s obvious. But it’s like Jane has to say it; it’s important for her, and for them, that it’s verbalised.

“I don’t know it’s you,” Jane adds, thickly.

“Duh!” says Sabina, mock glaring at her. “Way to state the obvious, dude.”

“We know that, Janey,” adds Elena softly. “You would never hurt us intentionally.”

Jane blinks, once, twice. Then unexpectedly she’s weeping, great wrenching sobs that shake her whole body. Elena is off her stool and wrapping her arms around Jane before she knows what she’s doing. Sabina is at Jane’s back, doing the same. Together they hold their girlfriend while she falls apart, messily, chaotically, losing her hard-won control out-of-the-blue. Elena buries her face in Jane’s neck and feels Jane’s wet tears and snot and cries and gasps. Elena’s own eyes are wet with tears. She feels Sabina’s warm hands come over Elena’s own forearms, and they hold Jane together, also holding each other.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Sabina and Jane are on the living room couch, watching as Elena connects her laptop to their big screen tv. Over the past days and weeks, the three-of-them have held several meetings or ‘talk fests’ as Sabina prefers to call them. They’ve discovered that they can’t talk about the trauma all at once: Not by a long shot. They need breaks, because facing this shit is intense, even when doing it together. Slowly and steadily, they’re making appreciable progress … even though they’ve often had to pause or stop when someone gets too agitated.

Sabina side-eyes Jane, whose lap she’s currently lying in. It’s Jane who gets too agitated, to tell the truth. Mostly it’s Jane. They’re travelling at Jane’s pace: it’s The Jane Show.

Jane seems to need more space than either Sabina or Elena does, even at the best of times. Since #MissionDisaster Jane’s space-o-metre has gone waaay up, although weirdly it’s often touch that is the magic ingredient that somehow helps her. Elena is excellent at knowing when and how much touch to give; Sabina, not so much. She doesn’t speak fluent-Jane, she just loves her like crazy.

Or that’s not really fair. Sabina is 50/50. Sometimes she gets Jane like nobody’s business, and not even Elena can touch her Jane-whispering. Sometimes Sabina’s out in the cold, freezing her ass off, no clue whatsoever. It’s kind of the way she is with mission instincts: win big or lose it all.

“Stop staring at me,” says Jane, resting-bitch-voice activated. Sabina glares at her girlfriend, but it’s half-hearted. She mostly wants to kiss Jane, just now. But somehow, she knows that Jane’s touch limit is already maxed out with the lap-lying. Sulkily Sabina turns her eyes back to Elena.

“So, I took all the data we’ve catalogued,” reports Elena, sounding cutely excited, “and I made these graphs and charts, so we can better see our mission parameters.” She seats herself next to them and brings up a PowerPoint on the big screen.

“You are so cute,” says Sabina, bouncing up to a sitting position and laying her head on Elena’s shoulder. She partly does this as an excuse to stop touching Jane — for Jane’s sake — and partly to be close to her super-cute and super-smart Genius Girlfriend TM. “Isn’t she?” Sabina says to Jane. It’s rhetorical but Jane answers anyway.

“So cute,” Jane confirms, with a small and sincere smile.

Elena blushes prettily. Sabina can’t contain herself. She kisses Elena’s cheek, and watches happily as the blush intensifies.

“The charts are visually loaded,” says Elena, stumbling a little over her words …

“You’re visually loaded, babygirl,” jumps in Sabina. Hey, it was a perfect flirting opportunity.

“And er, functional, yet aesthetic, you know? They’re pretty.” Elena is babbling.

“Not as pretty as you.” Sabina grins big as Elena’s blush spreads.

“Oh, stop it,” says Jane mildly. “Or this talk fest will turn into a sex fest.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” wonders Sabina, walking her hand up Elena’s thigh. Elena grabs it in one of hers, stopping it in its tracks.

“We can do that afterwards,” Elena promises, and her coy glance is enough for Sabina to subside, happily. Oh yeah, sex to wipe away the pain of talk fest. Totally worth it.

Sabina glances at Jane, wondering if she’ll join them. Jane’s very welcome to, of course. Sabina certainly wants her bad! However, when Jane is very in need of space, sex usually isn’t on the cards. That’s fine; they’re all about respecting each other’s timing. They’re all free to have sex as couples or a throuple, whatever comes up naturally between them. They’ve been that way since they first got together, officially.

Yet sometimes when Jane is craving space, Sabina starts to crave Jane. Sabina’s occasionally wondered if that’s why the two-of-them work with Elena, as a three-of-them, yet seem to inevitably degenerate into conflict as a two. Elena is just as touchy-feely affectionate as Sabina, plus has a high libido. She doesn’t match Sabina’s ultra-high libido; it’s rare to meet anyone who does. But Elena’s up there, and easily aroused by Sabina’s overtures … yet also seems to know how to calm her down and wear her out (what a gift Elena is!). Having said that, Jane, who admittedly and unashamedly has a lower libido, burns volcano-hot when she’s in mating season. Sabina is so into libido-Jane. Maybe even more so because Sabina has to wait. She’s never been that good at waiting …

“Sabina, concentrate!” snaps Jane, and Sabina guiltily snaps back to. Elena looks at her sympathetically yet knowingly while Jane just looks irritated.

“So this chart,” continues Elena, and presumably Sabina has missed a chunk of what her girlfriend’s been sharing, “shows various stimuli we’ve linked to incident likelihood.”

Sabina thinks up a perfect and dirtily flirty line about ‘incidents’ then bites her tongue to prevent herself delivering it.

“Hmm.” Jane leans forward. “So you’re saying that … a hitting incident is related to hyper-alertness, freezing, irritability, needing more space, and being extra silent?”

“Yes,” Elena sounds a little uncomfortable. “All those … symptoms appear in the window before a hitting incident. Not necessarily together, you understand, but at least one of them, and more often two to four of them. So, it stands to reason that…”

“…they predict its onset.” Jane sounds thoughtful. “I see that.”

Sabina rolls her eyes. This is boring. She is bored out of her skull. Her skull is pounding with how bored she is. Point of fact, her head really fucking hurts (strange …); she squeezes her eyes closed tightly.

And opens them to a nightmare. Something is exploding! Sabina doesn’t know what, only that her head feels like it’s splitting down the middle and her ears are ringing. She can’t hear anything but ringing: the ringing is screaming. What was that, what was that?! She whirls around in terror, looking for the source of threat; nothing. Her hands go to her throat, there’s something heavy pressing there. It’s hard to breathe.

“Sabina!” It’s Jane. Sabina recognises her girlfriend’s voice, she recognises the cool look in Jane’s eyes, she recognises the weapon in her hand, pointed directly at Sabina’s face. Oh God, oh God, she’s going to die … she’s going to die …

“You’ll hit her,” a vaguely familiar voice, feminine. Sabina is choking; it’s hard to breathe.

“No I won’t,” coolly sure. That’s Jane. That’s Jane!

Something happens. The world explodes. Sabina can’t explain it, understand it, process it. She screams; her head is splitting open. Her ears are ringing. What’s happening, what’s happening?! The choking sensation is gone. She’s on her hands and knees. There’s red all around her, a pool of red: blood and meat and gristle and … oh God. It’s her … it’s all that’s left of the woman in red! Jane killed her. Jane fucking vaporised her! Jane pointed her gun at Sabina’s head. She pointed her gun at Sabina’s head, and she pulled the trigger and …

“What do we do?!” Frantic. Familiar.

… Red Woman is goo. That’s all that’s left! Sabina is goo, Sabina is kneeling in goo. She starts retching. She feels sick to her stomach.

“I don’t know!” Sharp, panicked. “What do you do when it’s me?”

“It’s not like this! This is new, Jane.”

“Sabina, look at me, you’re okay, you’re okay.”

She can’t look. It’s Jane, crouching on the floor in the goo. Sabina doesn’t want to look at Jane; she can’t see that cool and collected look in Jane’s eyes as she points the target weapon at Sabina’s head …

“Honey, just breathe, okay? Take a deep breath for me.” Oh, that’s Elena. Sabina rolls her eyes desperately, confused. What’s Elena doing here? Isn’t Elena manning comms? How can she see her?

“Leave me alone,” Sabina mutters, scrambling back from Jane and Elena. Better safe than sorry. She needs to get somewhere safe; reassess, vomit her guts out, never see the goo again. She continues scrambling backwards, blinking sweat out of her eyes, trying to direct her trembling limbs to do what she wants them to. There! A corner. A corner is safe. She fits her back to the corner.

She’s on her knees again, throwing up. Her ears are ringing. She doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Stay back from her.” The voice is terse, upset. “We’re making her worse.”

“But she needs us!”

“No, sometimes you just need space.” That’s Jane.

“…Okay.” That’s Elena.

Jane and Elena continue talking to each other in low voices, nearby but not too near. Sabina stops listening to them; now that she knows who they are, it is okay that they are in the room with her. She is feeling less confused by the second. The corner-wall at her back is helping; nobody can sneak up on her. She’s emptied her guts which feels better. Sabina blinks her stinging eyes and fits her back to the wall, drawing up her knees and hiding her head in her hands.

And she breathes.
Breathes.
Breathes.
Breathes.
She vaguely remembers a therapy exercise she was taught long ago. It’s supposed to help, breathing is supposed to help.

“That’s good, sweetheart, that’s good.” Elena’s voice, not too close for comfort, now welcome. “Keep breathing just like that.”

“You’ll be okay, Bina.” Jane’s voice is soft, also not too close. “We’re here. We’re here, when you’re ready.” Sabina blinks. She’s ready. She holds out her arms.

In a trice her girlfriends are with her, kneeling on the floor on either side of her drawn up knees.

“Can I touch you?” asks Elena, and Sabina nods drowsily, enjoying Elena’s hand now carding through her hair. She feels sleepy now, and a little confused. What exactly happened? Oh well, it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that she’s sleepy and her girlfriends are here, and she’d like to snuggle.

“Let’s cuddle,” she announces accordingly. Sabina thinks that Jane and Elena exchange a meaningful look of some kind, but she’s too out of it to tell.

“Fine.” Jane speaks softly. Sabina is surprised when she’s suddenly scooped up into Jane’s strong arms and carried to their bedroom, bridal style. Surprised, but into it. She (secretly? not so secretly?) loves being carried by Jane.

Jane deposits her softly on the centre of their bed, and then Elena is curling up on Sabina’s left side and Jane settles in on her right. Sabina dozes. God, she’s tired. Have they just come back from a mission? She doesn’t realise she asked this aloud until Elena answers:

“No, no mission. Bina … what do you remember?”

“Um…” Sabina blinks sweaty hair out of her eyes. “Not sure…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jane, sounding uncharacteristically gentle. “Just go to sleep. We can talk about it later.” Sabina does so, easily. She doesn’t even remember closing her eyes.

She half-wakes, she doesn’t know how much later. She can hear her girlfriends’ soft voices talking over her, fading in and out.

“I think you’re right.” Elena.

“Yeah. She threw up then too.” Jane.

“I heard it over comms.” Elena, sounding a bit grossed out, like she always does when vomit is involved.

“She probably thought I was going to shoot her,” Jane sounds bleak. “I mean, the gun went off right by her head - the bullet probably entered an inch over her head.”

“Oh God.”

“Stupid.”

“Don’t say that!” Elena sounds angry. “If she thought that, it’s only because she was out of it. And what else were you supposed to do?! If you hadn’t acted, she’d be dead.” A pause.

“We don’t know that.” Jane’s voice is weak.

“It’s a pretty sure thing,” Elena argues. “Though…” her voice turns conciliatory and faintly scientific-intellectual. “We never know anything for sure.”

Sabina blinks her eyes open.

“You sound so smart, baby,” she tells Elena, “when you talk like a scientist.”

In answer Elena buries her face in Sabina’s neck and squeezes her tightly. Sabina can feel wetness on her neck; Elena is crying? On her other side Jane is also clinging to her tightly, and that in itself, is scary.

“What’s wrong?” Sabina asks. “Janey? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Jane’s voice is guilty, irritated, tender. “Shut up, you idiot. I love you.”

“I love you too,” says Sabina automatically, because she does. “You too, Lena,” she adds, pressing a kiss to Elena’s head. She turns to press a kiss to Jane’s head too but is waylaid by Jane’s waiting lips which capture hers fiercely.

Sabina’s head spins. They are kissing passionately, and she meets Jane’s wildfire energy head on, always up for this particular challenge. It’s a bit like flooring the accelerator in a high-end sports car and going from 0 to 60 in 3 seconds flat. They are flying through the stratosphere, climbing higher and higher and higher and …

Jane breaks the kiss. They are both gasping for breath.

Sabina grins lasciviously. She is so about to get lucky with both her sexy-ass girlfriends. She can feel it in her bones.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane is feeling beyond irritated. She knows it’s a probable sign of PTSD, the Angels have established this with Elena’s data and charts. But that doesn’t take away this unbearable itchy feeling or how it spurs Jane to want to lash out. She glances across the lounge at Sabina, who is perched on the cushioned window seat, especially vague-eyed while picking compulsively at the hem of her cut-off shorts. Jane scowls. She knows Sabina’s behaviour is a probable PTSD sign too; it looks a bit different on each of them. They’ve catalogued their signs, definitively.

Jane is disturbed by Sabina’s tells much more than she wants to admit, and much more than she is by her own. Jane thinks it might be because she feels so unbearably guilty. At least Sabina doesn’t have to blame herself for Jane’s PTSD. But as far as Jane can make out (regardless of what Elena and Sabina have reassured her), Jane’s pretty much responsible for Sabina’s latest trauma load. And that just makes her more annoyed at Sabina! Which is fucking hypocritical and doesn’t make sense to the logical side of her brain … yet it is so anyway.

God, it’s so bad just now, that Jane feels like she wants to attack Sabina: pick a fight or something. They three of them have talked about this. Jane reminds herself of the pertinent details. This if the Fight response from the Fight/Flight/Freeze survival switch in their brains, the reptilian core that takes over when all the other systems shut down. Irritability, check. Aggressive behaviour, check (well, the desire is there, though right now Jane’s holding herself back gamely).

Elena enters and Jane sees her size up the situation in one glance.

“Phase two!” calls Elena, and Sabina and Jane both snap to attention. They’ve all planned for this moment. It’s the first time they’ve reached this stage consciously: a breakthrough for their ‘#MissionReplaster’ (Sabina’s humorous name for them trying to undo the damage from #MissionDisaster). Jane feels grateful that Elena came in when she did; Jane clearly wasn’t thinking straight. Even so she can’t quite believe she didn’t make this call, herself.

“Jane, report.” Elena’s attentive eyes meet hers.

Jane (a little resentfully) realises this means that Elena believes Jane is further gone than Sabina and needs steadying first. Reporting will provide that – it forces one to enter the logical neocortex, the human brain’s most recent evolutionary development, hence stepping up and out of the reptilian brain-stem (its oldest evolutionary structure). Jane smiles wryly to herself. Scientist Elena has suggested they use neuroplasticity to rewire their brains ‘for love’.

“What, like sex?” Sabina had asked.

“That’s part of it,” murmured Elena, with a soft smile. “But I mean all of it. Romance, friendship, camaraderie, teamship, healing our traumas, kicking ass, etc, etc…”

…“Etc!” Sabina had pounced on Elena with a kiss. Jane had giggled (which was embarrassing, but fortunately her girlfriends were too distracted to call her on it).

Now, in the field - so to speak, it’s finally time to put the brain’s neuroplastic capacity (to reform itself and create new neural pathways) to work.

 “Irritated,” reports Jane, sounding indeed extremely irritated. “It’s growing steadily. I want to attack! Target: Sabina.” Across the room Sabina arches a brow, then annoyingly, winks at Jane.

“Sabina, report!” Elena’s using her command voice (she sounds a little like Bosley). Sabina blinks and focuses.

“I’m … out of it. Like I feel fuzzy, and kinda confused. It’s hard to concentrate.”

Elena smiles excitedly. Jane’s guessing she’s proud of their progress.

“Jane, what’s your self-assessment?” Elena asks. Jane glowers.

“Warning signs of PTSD, present. Impending flashback, possible. If not a flashback, then likelihood of picking a fight is rising. Probably at 60% now, and soon to be 80% the next time Sabina winks at me.” Jane smirks, her irritation fading a little thanks to the clever (and deliberate, planned for) use of humour.

Elena and Sabina are smirking too.

“Sabina, your self-assessment?” checks Elena.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s similar to Jane’s. Only I’m all confuzzled and probably not about to have a flashback, and rather than fighting I’d be happy to fuck it out instead.” Sabina pauses and then purrs ultra-flirtatiously, “verrry happy.”

Jane’s irritation spikes. But her libido spikes at the same time. So … game on. They have talked about this and decided to make use of known stress relievers and grounders: the use of logic when emotional. Well placed jokes. Mindful breathing. Noticing three things in the room that they can see, two they can hear, one they can touch. Aggressive sex in place of physical aggression: the consensual kind.

“Let’s fuck it out,” Jane growls, glancing at Elena, and waiting for her go, as previously agreed.

“Mission is go!” Elena sounds excited and more than a little turned on. She pulls out a notebook and pen and assumes an action stance. This is also something they have all agreed to for their first try of ‘sex sublimation strategy’. Since it’s meant to be about redirecting Jane’s aggression and refocusing Sabina, Elena is going to take notes and record their results.

Jane all but charges across the room, heading straight for her target.

FOURTH WALL BREAKS TEMPORARILY:
Yes, they are strange. Yes, they are fully aware of that. Now, fuck off, they have a mission to carry out. Or you can stay and watch, whatever. In fact … I bet you’re into it. I bet this is what you really came here for. Didn’t you?! Y/N?
Yes: Proceed, mission is go!
No: Skip forward to chapter 11.
Maybe?: Well you better stay and find out …

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Sabina’s eyes widen; she wasn’t expecting quite this initiative. Jane is charging her, and it’s more than a little intimidating.

“Incoming!” Sabina yells instinctively, wondering if she should duck. It’s too late, Jane is already flying (gracefully) through the air and tackling her. The two-of-them are flying through the window onto the deck outside; fortunately, the window was open.

“Timeout, timeout!” squeals Elena, racing after them, and hopping through the window too.

Jane and Sabina freeze, mid-wrestle. Jane is on top with her hands on Sabina’s shoulders. Sabina’s hands are caught up in Jane’s shirt, fisting the material. It is very hard to stop, notes Sabina to herself. Almost fucking impossible. But hey, rules are rules are schmules …

“You’re not fighting,” Elena reminds them breathlessly. “You’re fucking. Okay, go!”

Jane pulls back a fist and Sabina cringes away in startlement. A whistle blares. That’s Elena calling another timeout.

“Fucking, Jane!” shouts Sabina. “Not fucking punching me!”

“Sorry!” shouts back Jane, lips pulled back in a snarl. “It’s instinct!”

And yeah, Sabina has to give her girlfriend that. She can see and feel and smell Jane’s fighting instincts, right now. It’s turning Sabina on … it always has … but at the same time, it certainly seems like they’re going to fight rather than fuck. For fuck’s sake, there is a difference …

“Jane!” hisses, Elena. “Focus!”

Jane’s fist comes down slowly to rest by her side. She blinks sheepishly. Sabina thinks about how pretty Jane’s eyelashes are in that split second when they brush her dusky skin. God, Sabina’s wet. She hopes Jane punches her soon … no wait, that’s not it …

“Go!” calls Elena. Jane looks confused for a moment. Sabina holds her breath. And then something strange happens. Jane takes a deep breath. She seems to gather up her aggression and power and suck it into herself. Sabina can practically visualise it whipping all around Jane like some kind of dark-cloak-aura. Jane glares down at Sabina, and growls softly:

“Look at you, all pretty on your back for me.”

Sabina blinks once, twice, thrice. She’s in shock. That’s a … sexy Domme voice. Jane Kano is … domming her? Is this what they talked about? Sabina glances over to Elena, hoping for some guidance. But Elena’s jaw has dropped, heat rising in her cheeks, and she doesn’t look like she’s about to interrupt - not any time soon.

“Eyes on me,” snaps Jane, and Sabina’s eyes are on Jane so fast she feels like she’s getting whiplash.

Okay, okay. She can do this. Sabina loves power games in the bedroom. And out of the bedroom, or whatever. It’s just that she’s never played this game with her loves; she’s more than a little embarrassed to show this side overtly, for all of her vaunted sexuality and experience. Sabina … doesn’t know if they’d be into it? Besides (don’t tell anyone) she can be a bit of a wuss when it comes to rejection of vulnerable spots … she likes to avoid that possibility if rejection seems at all likely …

“What are you thinking?” asks Jane, slowly. To her abject horror, Sabina feels herself turning bright red.

“‘Orange’,” she gasps out, which is their agreed-to mission safe word for ‘pause and check’ and ‘change something up’. It means an edge has been reached that can’t be crossed. ‘Green’ means all is good, the mission is go. ‘Red’ means everything comes to a complete stop, mission aborted. “Orange on that question.” These traffic light colours are common safe words taken from the world of kink … maybe that’s influenced them ending up at this unexpected juncture?

Jane’s eyebrows raise. Sabina sees her girlfriend thinking it over; psychological vulnerability can be greater than physical compromise. She watches as understanding floods Jane’s eyes, and Sabina knows that in this variety of weakness, they are alike. This is one of the ways the two-of-them understand each other, instinctively … and Elena complements but is different to them. Sabina and Jane are (often) psychologically vulnerable. Elena isn’t (half as much) … which is strange, because Elena is outwardly the most vulnerable seeming, by far.

“Good girl,” purrs Jane, finally, and Sabina blushes again, more mildly. Oh, she likes that. And she feels humiliated at the same time, to see Jane take note of it. What a conundrum …

“Keep calling your signals,” Jane tells her, and Sabina senses the unspoken shift as Jane sinks firmly into the control position. Something about seeing Sabina’s emotional vulnerability on clear display must have cemented this experiment for Jane. “You’ll be good, won’t you?” Jane husks. “For me?”

Oh God. The thrilling sticky pleasure-pain rush of longing-for-approval yet feeling-ashamed-of-being-so-weak floods Sabina. It’s almost as good as orgasm in and of itself … and it’s terrible at the same time. Sabina is already firmly under Jane’s thumb, and Jane hasn’t even done anything.

“Yes,” Sabina manages finally, and her voice comes out breathy, eager. Oh God, oh God. She is screwed.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane stares down at Sabina: her begging eyes, her blush, her parted lips. Oh God. What is happening?! Jane’s thoughts are muzzy and she’s dimly aware that she’s very very aroused. She can’t remember the last time her panties were so sticky-wet with anticipation. And Jane hasn’t even done anything, much. Just called Sabina a good girl and teased out a hidden vulnerability.

Yet there’s something about Sabina’s reactions, responses … her clear and abject submission. Jane feels powerful, strong. She’s used to Sabina pushing back, not cowering and aiming to please. Don’t get her wrong, Jane likes Sabina’s pushback (tell no-one) … bratty Sabina is fucking annoying yet also endearing … and they often have hot and feisty sex after an argument but …

… this is something else entirely. Jane’s eyes narrow. She has to figure out what this is!

“Get up,” she snaps at Sabina, her voice two registers deeper than normal. She instinctively knows just what to say and just how to sound. Hmm, whatever this is, it’s flowing naturally. It’s like an extension of Jane’s deeper psyche, maybe …

Sabina gets up, fast.

Nearby Elena is watching wide-eyed. Jane tosses her girlfriend an assessing glance and notes that Elena’s almost as flushed and out-of-breath as Sabina. Interesting …

“On your knees,” orders Jane, and even she is shocked by just how fast Sabina drops back down. Sabina hits the deck quite hard, and Jane hopes inadvertently that she hasn’t injured herself in her eagerness. Jane fills with irritation … does she have to do everything, herself? Can’t Sabina show a bit of common sense?

She places one booted foot up on the rail, and grabs Sabina by the chin.

“Suck me off.”

Sabina makes a needy little shocked noise in the back of her throat, that honestly, makes Jane want to cum right there and then. Sabina’s wide eyes go to Jane’s crotch, and she even leans forward a little, but then she hesitates. Jane eyes her impatiently.

“Uh…” Sabina sounds pleasingly dazed. “You’re wearing pants, dude. Can I like, take them off?”

Jane glares down at her girlfriend, her cheeks heating as she realises that Sabina is correct. Jane’s military cargo pants are in the way of a successful operation. However, the most important thing in this scenario is to maintain control …

She backhands Sabina curtly. Jane doesn’t put anywhere close to full force behind it; one of the perks of being an Angel is that your body is a highly trained, finely honed fighting machine, and Jane’s reflexes are razor sharp. Besides she spars with Sabina more than anybody else: there’s no one whose limits she knows better.

Sabina’s head snaps to the side and she rocks a little but stays on her knees. Sabina turns her head back slowly, cheek red, eyes glazed with … lust. Yeah, that’s lust. Jane barely keeps herself from smirking. From somewhere close by she hears Elena suck back a squeak. No timeout whistle is forthcoming. The mission is still go …

“Um, I’m sorry?” tries Sabina, biting her bottom lip.

“That’s better,” purrs Jane. And then, because Sabina was totally right about the pants, she takes her boot down from the rail, and efficiently removes her (leather) boots, cargo pants, panties. Jane’s body is thrumming with need, and the heady thrum of irritation-mixed-with-power fills her like an aphrodisiac. She feels … ready. Dripping. There’s no room for embarrassment; there’s too much lust. Jane puts her boots back on.

Sabina’s eyes are huge. She hasn’t moved an inch. Jane can hear Elena’s heavy breathing, but she doesn’t look at Elena, not yet – her eyes pierce Sabina in place as she casually lifts one boot back up to the rail and towers over her girlfriend.

“Suck me off.” When Sabina hesitates, appearing dazed, Jane wraps one hand in Sabina’s short hair and pulls her in firmly.

Jane’s eyes close with pleasure-relief as she feels Sabina’s tongue dart out and press against her flatly, applying steady pressure from the bottom to the top of Jane’s vulva-slit in one long lick. God, Sabina knows just what she likes. Even apparently, when Sabina’s under pressure.

Jane can’t help it; she huffs out a little and starts rutting her vulva into Sabina’s face. She looks down and is greeted by a sight so hot she almost cums, Sabina’s earnest and messy face as she devotes her attention to pleasing Jane. Sabina’s really going for it, using all her skills and knowledge of what Jane likes when she’s worked up, tongue out and hands coming up to cradle Jane’s hips and give Sabina more leverage. Jane approves. She keeps one hand wrapped in Sabina’s hair, pulling her towards Jane in sync with Jane’s hips jutting into Sabina’s face. This is partly because the view of her girlfriend servicing her is xxx-rated, and partly because Jane is losing her mind, operating on pure blissful instinct …

She cums with a shout, fast and oh-so-hard. Jane can’t remember ever cumming so fast in partnered sex: it’s a new record! She pushes Sabina back and away, impatient, wanting more. That wasn’t enough. Jane is still so … angry? Horny? Whatever-this-is, the mission is still on … Jane turns away restlessly, striding towards their home, shooting a quick,

“Sabina, come!” over her shoulder. Jane sees Elena nearby, scribbling notes furiously. “Bring my pants,” Jane orders Sabina as an afterthought, entering through their open window.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Elena is dying. This mission has quickly gotten out-of-control, like when firefighters perform a controlled fire in the bush, but suddenly have a dangerous bushfire on their hands. Or maybe it’s going well?! Really, Elena is struggling to keep up with her girlfriends, and is pretty sure her judgment is impaired.

It’s just … Jane is so hot right now, all growly and glowering and packing pure power. Sabina is so pretty when she’s hurt and saying sorry for God-knows-what (she clearly didn’t do anything wrong; what a good girl!). D/s porn can be an occasional half-guilty pleasure for Elena … but she’s never considered actually engaging in it. Until the moment her hot-AF girlfriend Jane Kano ordered her so-sexy girlfriend Sabina Wilson to kneel, and Sabina dropped to her knees like there was no tomorrow! Elena was right there with Sabina, wanting to kneel for Jane and grovel prettily. She was right there with Jane, wanting to hike one boot up on the rail and pull Sabina into her (aching! dripping! pulsing!) pussy. Elena was so into it, that she forgot to take notes.

She trots after her girlfriends, bringing her sub-par notes with her – she can fix them later. Elena’s sure the details of this mission will be burned into her brain for a long while to come. Sabina follows Jane to their bedroom like a puppy, obediently carrying Jane’s cargo pants and panties. Elena catches Sabina sniffing Jane’s panties, surreptitiously, and jots a quick note, ‘can smell J from here.’ She runs a line through this insight just as quickly – that isn’t a quality note.

“On the bed,” Jane orders Sabina, voice gravelly.

Jane’s still wearing those fuck-me leather boots (oh God), now paired with their triad’s largest strap-on (oh God). It’s purple and glittery, because when they online shopped for it together, Sabina insisted that “we need to go big or go home! And that extends to colours, guys!” and Elena had agreed it was pretty. Jane had said it was tasteless … but Elena notices that this sure hasn’t stopped Jane from using it and having it used on her.

Sabina scrambles to their bed, double-time. Elena has never seen Sabina so obedient, and obviously eager to please. Where are her smart-ass comments? The pushback? The dragging of her feet? Who is this submissive creature and what has she done with Sabina Wilson? Elena notes down, ‘personality change?’ She nibbles her lip and adds, ‘S certainly seems focused (for once)’ and makes a big checkmark of approval.

“Take your clothes off,” orders Jane, “all of them.” Jane watches hungrily as Sabina does so, fumbling in her enthusiasm. Elena repositions herself in an armchair that gives her a good view of their bed and both her girlfriends’ faces. It also allows her to hug a cushion which is grounding just now. Elena’s fingers are aching to touch … something …

Sabina is buck naked and beautiful. Jane is still wearing her fitted shirt and boots and strap-on, sans-pants. It’s hot.

“What do you want?” demands Jane, and Sabina actually wrings her hands. Elena chews her lip, rapt. Better. Than. Porn.

“You,” says Sabina softly. “Please Jane.”

“Please Jane, what?” Jane’s voice is remote, dark, dangerous. It’s turning Elena on.

“Please Jane … f-fuck me.” Sabina looks, sounds desperate. She is flushed, yearning, blooming. Elena is going to fuck her if Jane doesn’t. Jane better hurry up and get on with it!

Jane growls and grabs Sabina forcibly by the hips. Then she spins her around, so Sabina is positioned at the end of the bed, facedown, feet on the floor, ass in the air. Elena feels like she might spontaneously combust. Jane’s eyes are narrowed in focus, her breathing is heavy but controlled. She lines up the dildo with Sabina’s vagina, expertly.

Then Jane’s entering Sabina, roughly, quickly, expertly. Sabina cries out hoarsely, but it’s the good kind of scream. Sabina’s face is turned towards Elena, pushed into the covers, and Elena’s sees Sabina’s eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy than snap back open, hazy with pleasure. Her cheeks are red, her mouth is open; that looks like drool …

Jane is fucking Sabina now, quick short sharp. Her movements are controlled, deliberate and fast. Sabina is moaning and squirming and canting her hips to meet Jane as best she can. Her fists are gripping the covers, searching, and failing to get better leverage. When she almost succeeds in propping herself up a little, Jane reaches forward masterfully, and pushes Sabina down by the shoulder blades, flat on her face. Jane holds Sabina down and fucks her harder. Sabina groans, helpless, sounding and looking beyond wrecked.

Elena is groaning too. Beneath the cushion she shoves a hand under her clothing and inside her panties. She begins rubbing her clit furiously, no warmup, nothing. There is no way Elena can watch this fireshow without getting off too. That would be too much to ask!

Now Jane is pushing into Sabina, further. Elena sees that the fucking is just as fast, but it’s gone from short and teasing to deep and pounding. Sabina is whimpering ceaselessly and struggling mindlessly against Jane’s restraining hand on her shoulder blades. Jane’s other hand grips Sabina’s hip, positioning her at the perfect angle for Jane’s dildo to rub against Sabina’s G-spot, as she slides in and out, mercilessly.

Elena closes her eyes as her own orgasm hits her, lightning in her clit. In the very next moment, she opens them; Sabina is screaming the house down. The helpless bucking of Sabina’s hips reveals her orgasm, ripping through her writhing body. Jane is yelling too, hoarsely, hips slackening their pace as she arches back: Elena sees that Jane is orgasming too.

Mission success.

Good fucking work, Angels!

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

It’s the morning after their sex mission and Jane is in the kitchen, desperate for coffee. She’s fiddling with the ultra-expensive coffee machine Sabina ‘liberated’ from a mission-gone-wrong and had the audacity to gift-wrap for Jane. Though she’d scoffed at the time, it’s one of the best gifts Jane’s ever been given. It’s her (secret) baby and she insists that neither Elena nor Sabina know how to work it properly. As a result, only Jane is allowed to use it, and that means she makes morning coffee for everyone.*

“Morning, Jane!” Elena enters the kitchen, wearing nothing but a men’s baggy band t-shirt that Jane recognises as belonging to Sabina. She doesn’t recognise the band: no doubt they’re shit. Sabina’s taste in music can be … all over the place, and changeable too. Elena looks extremely cute in the t-shirt, even more cute than usual. Jane beams at her girlfriend; she can’t help herself. She even opens an arm to Elena, who hurriedly burrows in.

“Last night was…” Elena sneaks a shy look up at Jane … “sooo hot.” Jane blinks down at Elena, a little nonplussed.

“I thought you were taking notes?”

“Ah…” Elena looks slightly guilty. “I did my best. But it would’ve taken balls of steel to note-take through that mission.”

Jane chuckles aloud, unable to stop herself:

“You’re picking up Sabina-lingo.”

“Speak for yourself,” grins Elena, pinching Jane on the ass, ever so gently. “Last week I heard you call this machine your ‘coffeebabe’. You stole that off Sabina!” Jane grin-grimaces but doesn’t disagree.

“Where is she?” Jane asks instead, pouring Elena her usual cappuccino.

“Dead to the world, last I checked,” grins Elena, accepting her coffee gratefully and seating herself at the breakfast bar. Elena’s voice lowers, becomes teasing. “Someone fucked the living daylights out of her, and now she can’t move, poor baby.”

Jane blushes, strongly. She muscles through, continuing to pour out her own double espresso, pretending that the blush-attack is not happening. If she’s lucky Elena won’t notice, what with Jane’s dark skin … though Elena tends to notice everything. When Jane finally joins Elena at the bar, her girlfriend smirks knowingly. But Elena is a softie, she doesn’t push it (unlike what Sabina would have done, in the same situation). Jane is grateful it’s just her and Elena.

They sip their coffees in tandem, and smile at each other, softly. For a while they sit in companionable silence, focusing on the world’s eighth wonder: coffee. Birds twitter outside their window – other than that, the early-morning world is quiet. Peaceful. It’s nice, thinks Jane. So nice.

Eventually Sabina wanders in. She’s yawning, stretching, hair completely wild: buck naked.

Jane automatically opens her mouth to tell Sabina off, but before she can Elena is gently leading Sabina back to their bedroom, and when the two emerge a few moments later, Elena’s helping Sabina shrug on a fluffy pink dressing gown (it belongs to Elena and Jane secretly thinks it looks like the Easter bunny). She can’t believe how cute this looks on sleepy Sabina, and how cute Sabina-and-Elena look together. Cuteness overload! It’s a real danger in their triad. At least for Jane.

Still, Jane will be damned if she says or shows this opinion: she busies herself making Sabina’s usual affogato instead. A strange mood is stealing over her; she feels, embarrassed? Irritated? Oddly flushed?

Sabina is still yawning and rubbing her eyes and doesn’t appear to notice Jane’s awkwardness. Elena however is giving Jane such a soft look. Jane feels warmed and annoyed and even more embarrassed, all at once. She returns to sit with her girlfriends at the breakfast bar, handing Sabina her favourite coffee.

“Thanks babe.” Sabina downs it in one gulp, as though it’s a shot – and how is that even possible with its ice-cream? Jane glares at Sabina: coffee is supposed to be savoured. Sabina raises her hands placatingly, now awake enough to pick up on Jane’s ire.

“Whoops, sorry, Janey! I was just, y’know, in desperate need. Hey, can I have another one by any chance … you make the best coffee…” Jane huffs in annoyance, but gets up to make Sabina a second affogato, anyway.

“How are you feeling, Bina?” Elena smiles warmly at Sabina and nudges her with her knee. “Sleep well?”

“Oh the best,” enthuses Sabina. “Like a log. I can’t even remember the last time I slept so good. It’s all that fucking, for sure. We should fuck it out every time we have a problem.”

Jane blushes; she can’t help it. She’s glad she’s facing away from her girlfriends.

“You do always say that,” says Elena. “‘Fuck it out’ – that’s your suggestion on the regular.” Elena’s tone is coyly teasing, and Jane knows that she’s copying Sabina’s speaking style, deliberately and cleverly.

Then Jane hears smooching noises, and guesses that her girlfriends are kissing. They’re just so cute in each other’s outfits … like fuzzy little lovebirds. Jane’s careful to school her face into her trademark scowl, before turning back towards them with Sabina’s second coffee.

She just catches Elena and Sabina pulling away from a loving kiss.

“So," says, Elena, sipping at her cappuccino, eyeing her girlfriends carefully. “Yesterday’s mission seemed like a … big success.”

“The biggest,” agrees Sabina, smirking down into her affogato. “I didn’t know they could get so big.”

“Shut up,” growls Jane.

“Yes, Mistress,” returns Sabina. A startled laugh escapes Elena. Jane grinds her teeth:

“I didn’t ask you to call me that!” Sabina’s eyes mock widen, and she keeps pushing:

“‘Master’ then? I’m sorry, babe, you didn’t specify your Domme name…”

Jane feels a muscle jump in her jaw. She feels herself growing angry, no, angrier. Irritation is heating up fast, too fast, too far!

“Sabina…” Elena’s voice holds a warning note, and she places a placating hand on Sabina’s arm. But Sabina doesn’t seem to be paying attention. There’s a strange light in her eyes and Jane muzzily-instinctively recognises that Sabina’s been weirdly affected by their power exchange, just as Jane has. Things are … off kilter between them. Their balance has shifted, is currently sitting unevenly, and it leaves Jane feeling hot and bothered and confused.

“Whatcha gonna do, Jane?” Sabina doesn’t sound teasing now, she sounds challenging, maybe even angry. Jane doesn’t understand what is happening here, but she feels it thrum through her bones. Elena is looking almost scared now, flicking her eyes between her girlfriends, probably looking to do damage control.

“Stop it,” Elena says, voice low. “Both of you…”

Jane hops off her stool and turns on her heel. She’s got to get out of the kitchen. Now! If she doesn’t get away from Sabina, far away and fast, she’s not certain she can control her actions …

“Come back here!” Sabina definitely sounds angry.

Jane doesn’t let it stop her.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Sabina doesn’t have a clue why she’s so angry. But she is! She wants to punch something, preferably Jane’s face, preferably repeatedly. She hates that Jane’s just run out on her, and it amplifies her anger at the same time as it shoots a cold thrill of fear down her spine.

“Sabina!” Elena sounds desperate. “Get a grip!”

Sabina glares at Elena.

“I have a grip!” she yells back. Which is clearly nonsense.

“No you don’t!” yells back Elena. Her girlfriend yelling is rare enough that Sabina’s eyebrows meet her hairline, and she’s stilled for a moment.

“Something’s wrong,” says Elena, now quiet. She places a firm hand on Sabina’s forearm. “You’re not yourself.”

Sabina thinks about that, or tries to, deliberately forcing herself to take a long swig of her affogato. Her thoughts buzz angrily, and it’s hard to focus. Part of her wants to wrench her arm out of Elena’s hold, but another part of herself won’t let her. Sabina can’t hurt her baby. Besides, baby’s got a point. Something’s up. Clearly.

“I’m angry,” Sabina mutters, and Elena nods, quickly.

“Good, good, I mean, yeah, you are. It’s obvious, Bina.”

Sabina finishes her coffee. She turns her head to look out the kitchen door: Jane went that way. Sabina feels Elena’s restraining hand tighten on her arm, and turns back to her girlfriend, enquiringly.

“Give her space,” warns Elena. “She’s giving you space.”

Sabina nods slowly. She doesn’t want to give Jane space. She wants to punch her fucking face in! But it’s true all the same, what Elena says – Jane left for a good reason. Sabina saw it, felt it, fanned it: Jane was angry too.

“Let’s go sit on the deck,” suggests Elena, “it’s pretty out there.”

There’s nothing Sabina wants to do less. Still, she lets Elena pull her out onto the large deck that adjoins their lounge, following her girlfriend meekly enough. She’s not so far-gone that she can’t feel Elena’s good intentions or trust that her girlfriend likely knows best, just now. There’s a reason they work so well as a three … and that reason is probably named Elena Houghlin.

Together they lounge in the comfy hammock that hangs from an oak tree and the deck’s overhang. Elena takes Sabina’s hand in hers and nestles their legs together, but Sabina fidgets restlessly. Usually, Elena’s touch calms her right down: most of the time Sabina craves and loves touch. But right now, something’s up. This affectionate touch is making her skin itch.

“I’m sorry,” Sabina mutters, heaving herself out the hammock, and going to sit at their nearby outdoor round table, in one of its chairs. Elena looks startled and rebalances herself hurriedly in the hammock’s centre of gravity.

“It’s okay,” says Elena, softly, and Sabina can tell that her girlfriend means this; it really is okay. That’s a relief. The last thing Sabina needs is Elena upset with her at the same time Jane is. “Wanna talk?” asks Elena, hesitantly. “Or just hang?”

“Neither,” grumps Sabina, wrinkling her nose apologetically. At least she can always be honest with her girls. That means the world. That means the world!

Elena frowns, looking a little hurt and Sabina hurries to add:

“But I’m here, okay? Because what I want is probably not optimum, yeah?”

“What do you want?” asks Elena, so so quietly, but Sabina hears her perfectly fine.

“To smash Jane’s face in.” Sabina says it with assurance, because it’s filling up her muscles with how much she wants to hunt Jane down and make her pay.

“Ah.” Elena rubs the back of her neck. “Agreed, Bina. That’s … not optimum.”

They laugh together, wryly. It breaks the tension, a little. Sabina feels herself huff out a breath and relax one notch. One notch down, ninety-nine to go ….

“Because she topped you?” asks Elena bluntly. Sabina is kind of surprised. Such bluntness is usually more Jane’s modus operandi. But it’s what Sabina needs right now – maybe – and somehow Elena’s picked up on that. She flashes her girlfriend a grateful look.

“No … yeah … maybe. I dunno. It’s not that she topped me – we’ve all done that before. It’s hot. No, it’s more that Jane…” A pause, a breath huffed in … “decimated me. Like dude, I was gone for her, high on her!” Sabina runs a shaking hand through her hair. “That shit’s humiliating.”

“The difference between topping and domming?” wonders Elena, nose wrinkling and eyes squinting adorably, looking like she is trying very hard to understand.

“Yeah,” Sabina struggles on, “but uh, it’s not about the domming. I’ve done D/s before, y’know … with lots of people, both sides. It’s cos I was so … fucking subby. For Jane. Like pathetic, man.” She cringes and lowers her eyes. A hot flush of shame waves over Sabina, and she is not surprised when Elena moves to sit at the table, across from her. Sabina somehow knows Elena wants to touch her, comfort her … and also knows that Elena is holding herself back for Sabina’s sake.

“It was hot,” Elena offers softly, which was not what Sabina expected her to say. Sabina’s eyes snap up in disbelief and Elena nods at her, encouragingly.

“So hot,” Elena says gently, sincerely. “Not pathetic. I loved you both, like that. I had one of the best orgasms of my life, just watching you together.”

Sabina’s eyes are wide, and she is too surprised to feel ashamed.

“Yeah,” Elena nods and smiles knowingly. “I wanted to … fuck you senseless, Sabina. I wanted you to beg like that for me.” Sabina’s jaw drops. Elena is now outright grinning at her. Elena continues:

“And I wanted to kneel down for Jane and suck her off.” Sabina chokes on a sudden burst of snort-laughter. It’s lucky she’s not drinking something right now.

Elena winks at her, and her eyes are both gentle and teasing and oh – there’s so much love. So much love in Elena’s eyes and Sabina feels answering love bloom in her chest, filling her up with sunlight, chasing away the burning shame to she doesn’t-know-where. Only that there’s no more shame in this moment, just lovingness. And … a spike of arousal too.

Sabina all but throws herself into Elena’s arms, burying her face in her girlfriend’s neck and snuggling close. Elena is waiting for her, catching her, holding her, running her hands over Sabina’s back soothingly, murmuring endearments into her hair, pressing soft kisses to her ear.

Sabina’s anger is gone like it never even was.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane strides down to the garage, opens the door, and hops onto Sabina’s motorcycle. She knows where Sabina keeps the key (they all do), and she’s not about to ask for permission, right now. Besides it feels good; Jane’s doing this deliberately. She wants to make Sabina mad and taking her girlfriend’s beloved bike out for a joyride, without asking and just to fuck with Sabina – that will do it. No question.

Jane smiles, and it’s not a nice smile. She revs the engine and shoots down the drive and out onto the street. She heads straight for the freeway so that she can gun the bike. She wants, no she needs to go fast. Jane wants to use up this unsettling crackling-electricity-beneath-the-skin feeling. It’s close to unbearable. She loathes it.

Jane is usually (far) more in control than this. She is calm and cool, and expert at compartmentalisation. Yes, she is a creature of instinct, but she reigns it in and redirects it; achieves whatever mission capably, within mission parameters, and earns a glowing commendation.

But ever sense #MissionDisater it’s like Jane’s vaunted control is on the fritz. She’s just so … angry, so often, and often unexpectedly. Often at Sabina, truth be told. When is this fallout going to resolve itself?!

Oh sure, Elena swears that both Jane and Sabina have improved a lot, that they are all making progress together, and even has statistical diagrams that seem to prove it. But Jane isn’t convinced. Not after yesterday! Not after … that little scene between herself and Sabina.

Jane growls, shooting the bike skillfully into a narrow opening between two speeding trucks, that are going in opposite directions. The opening between them is skinny enough that Jane feels the friction of hot air brush her skin almost like a physical touch: a soft blow. She isn’t scared; she’s focused. She didn’t hit Sabina; she did hit Sabina.

Jane growls again, leaving the trucks behind. That’s it exactly. Jane lost control, with Sabina. She hit her girlfriend, for fun. To get herself off. Yes, hitting a sub is fine … but deliberately, to build a mood, to augment a scene, and after checking that it’s the kind of thing they’re into (for all that Jane knew that about Sabina already, no words needed). Not … frivolously. Jane was frivolous.

Not only that, Jane fucked Sabina senseless … and by the end of it, she wasn’t paying attention to whether Sabina was okay, to whether her girlfriend liked it. No, Jane was cumming harder than she ever had in her life! If Sabina had called their safe word, Jane doubts she could have stopped. That’s not domming: Jane has furtively read enough internet manifestos and explicit fanfictions on The Art of Domming (a guilty long-time thrill) to know that the key to good domming is taking responsibility for your submissive’s wellbeing.

The price of power is responsibility: the rush has a cost. Jane was good with this (in theory) though she’d never dared to go there, until yesterday. Then she (finally) went there, courtesy of wanting Sabina that way, so fucking much! Uncontrolled eruption!

Jane sighs into the wind, eyes tearing and skin stinging, realising belatedly that she isn’t wearing a helmet. So fucking dangerous. This is Sabina’s-style, not hers. Jane is out of control: Jane needs to go home. Back to her girls. She isn’t angry at Sabina, she realises. Or she is … but it’s the other face of guilt (as usual). Jane needs to make things right, to suck it up like a big girl.

Also, she needs her girlfriends. Their teamwork, help, loving support. Jane smiles softly as she slows the bike, turns it around.

She’s big enough to admit that.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Elena and Sabina are curled up on the couch watching cartoons in the lounge (Elena’s choice of program), when Jane comes home. The remains of breakfast cereal sit on the coffee table. Elena hears the familiar hum of Sabina’s motorbike pulling into the garage, and Sabina’s outraged expression suggests that she recognises it too. Elena squeezes Sabina’s hand comfortingly, warningly. Sabina mumbles something under her breath, and Elena can’t quite catch it but somehow knows that it’s rude and about Jane.

They hear Jane’s footsteps on the stairs leading up from the garage, and then the door swings open and Jane steps into their home. She looks … windswept. Her long black hair is wilder than Elena has ever seen it, her reddened face looks like it might have windburn. Jane’s eyes though are calm, in a way that they definitely weren’t when she’d stormed out earlier. Elena and Sabina watch as Jane grabs an armchair and pulls it over so that she sits facing the couch, on the opposite side of the coffee table. Elena has already flicked the off switch on the tv remote.

“Sweetheart,” Elena says softly, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Yeah, Janey,” says Sabina gruffly. “Geez, next time wear my helmet.”

Jane smiles gratefully at them. Her dark eyes are wet, and Elena doesn’t think it’s from the windburn.

“I’m an idiot,” Jane mutters, looking down then up. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re our idiot,” says Sabina, and it’s tender.

Elena watches as Jane and Sabina make soft eyes at each other, and she shivers with cuteness-overload. It’s all she can do not to draw attention to herself; she knows it would embarrass her ‘badass’ girlfriends … and would probably be too much for them to handle given the morning’s stressful events.

“Mission report?” Elena asks instead, the scientist in her sensing that this would be an optimal time to gather data. Jane squints:

“Hmm, well, surges of irritation spiking up into anger … and even rage this morning suggests PTSD. But at the same time, I’ve finally identified that underneath the anger … it’s all guilt.” Elena grabs her nearby notebook:

“Guilt?”

“Is this because you dommed me?” asks Sabina, and both Elena and Jane glare at her. Timing! Has Sabina no sense of timing?! But then:

“…Yes.” Jane’s voice is reluctant, yet even. She is squaring her shoulders, and Elena admires Jane’s courage in this moment.

“Yeah, same here,” says Sabina, and Elena thinks that maybe she was wrong about Sabina having bad timing. “I was frustrated and angry because I felt … like shit. Er, ashamed. Lena helped me work it out.” Sabina rubs her fist playfully on Elena’s head, not quite hard enough to be an actual noogie. “Our little genius.”

Jane looks confused and concerned, simultaneously:

“Ashamed? Why, Bina?”

Sabina looks down, and clenches her fists, suddenly serious. She seems to have lost her words. Elena comes to the rescue.

“Because of something nonsensical about her subbyness for you being um, ‘pathetic’?” Elena side-eyes Sabina, checking to see if she’s achieved the magic combination of teasing and direct-talking that seems to unlock her girlfriend’s heart. Sabina snorts; gruff amusement. Elena grins in relief; nailed it!

“I told her how hot she was yesterday,” Elena tells Jane, enjoying Jane’s widening eyes. Really, her two girlfriends are too easy, sometimes. They seem to think that Elena’s some kind of innocent schoolgirl-type, when really, how many times has she proved that she’s got both their numbers. Maybe it’s because Elena looks innocent. She can’t help that! Elena pushes on, remorselessly (out of kindness):

“How much I wanted to be you, Jane, fucking her. How much I wanted to be Sabina, being fucked by you! How hard I came, watching you both.”

Jane is blushing; it’s unmistakable. And if Scientist Elena’s careful observations are not mistaken, Jane’s breathing has picked up too.  Beside her on the couch, Elena hears Sabina give a little whine.

Jane’s eyes snap to Sabina, assessingly, possessively. It’s Total Domme, that dark look in her eyes, and Elena would bet good money that Jane doesn’t even know that she’s doing it. Beside Elena, Sabina squirms in place. Sabina’s definitely turned-on big time, thinks Elena with growing amusement. They’re as bad as each other. Oh God … this dynamic has been happening since Elena met them. She’s already seen them do all kinds of variations! It’s a Dom/sub mating dance!

With this epiphany, Elena ignores her girlfriends in favour of scribbling furiously in her notebook. Time disappears and she’s surprised and more than a little irate when the notebook is suddenly grabbed out of her hands. It’s Sabina, laughing at her.

“What’s got you all Crazy Genius mode? We’re trying to have a group talk, here!” Sabina chucks the notebook over to Jane, who scans it professionally.

“No!” cries Elena. She hasn’t finalised this theory yet. It still needs a lot of polishing …

“Dom/sub mating dance?” reads Jane, eyebrows sky-high. “You think we’ve been … bdsm flirting? As long as you’ve known us?”

“Uh … yes,” offers Elena, fanning herself weakly. Because it’s obvious. Only she isn’t sure her girlfriends are ready to hear it; they only just fucked-it-out D/s-style yesterday. This finding has been released prematurely to the public!

Sabina is staring at them both with a very strange look on her face.

“Duuuuuude,” she finally says, and Elena can’t tell if she’s addressing Elena or Jane. “That’s messed up.”

“Is it?” says Jane. “I felt guilty … because I didn’t follow Dom parameters correctly. You’re supposed to assume responsibility for your sub, to care for their needs and pleasures … and pains.” Sabina stares at Jane.

“Dude…” she repeats, and she sounds a bit like she’s stoned. “How do you even know that shit?”

“The internet,” mumbles Jane, sounding embarrassed. “I’ve read a lot of … guides.”

“Like how you read all those stupid spy guides?” wonders Sabina. “You want to be the perfect Domme, just like you’re already the perfect spy?”

Elena sighs. Sabina is running her mouth like only she can. Elena interprets this to mean that Sabina is overwhelmed. Elena glances to Jane to assess how she is doing.

“Yes,” says Jane, and that’s all she says. She seems overwhelmed as well, to Elena’s keen observations; it just looks different on Jane to what it does on Sabina, that’s all.

In that simple ‘yes’ Jane has admitted quite a lot of things to them both: Jane has a (secret?) interest in domming competence. She knows enough to know that she didn’t achieve her own high expectations. Jane is now fidgeting, not looking at either of them: highly uncharacteristic behaviour for her. Elena’s heart breaks for her beautiful recalcitrant girlfriend. Elena sees how much this all means to Jane; she probably sees it more clearly than Jane herself does.

Elena flicks her eyes over to Sabina and gives her a hand signal they’ve worked out together, just the two-of-them - one lazy Sunday morning when they were snuggling in bed, gossiping about how to tag-team Jane (code for: be amazing girlfriends). It means: ‘Dude, do something!’ in Sabina-language and ‘Go to her!’ in Elena-talk.

Sabina slinks over towards Jane, hesitantly. Sabina’s cheeks are tinged red, and she looks embarrassed, and caring, and oh! Hungry. Elena blinks. She has no idea how this is going to go down …

“Janey?” husks Sabina, reaching out as though she wants to take Jane’s hand in hers, but not making actual contact. “Can I … touch?”

Jane’s eyes snap up to Sabina’s and there is something in them. Something dark, longing, scared, and … hot. Elena leans back, involuntarily. Sabina doesn’t.

“Yes,” says Jane, and it’s almost a command. Sabina fits their hands together. She doesn’t face Jane, she stands side-on, so that Jane and Sabina are facing Elena, who is still on the other side of the coffee table. Elena senses that this is an instinctive move to bring down the intensity to manageable levels for Jane and Sabina, more than it’s to include Elena. Yet it’s also to include Elena. Jane is still sitting in the armchair; Sabina is standing beside her.

“I’d really like to, um…” Sabina mumbles something so quietly it’s impossible to capture it. Her cheeks are bright red, her whole face is red, possibly redder than Elena has ever seen it. Both Elena and Jane stare, in fascination.

“Louder,” says Jane quietly, and now it’s an order. Elena feels herself freeze in place, unable to read this (strange! so-familiar…) electric-dynamic between her girls, but feeling it all the same, down to her bones, thrumming through her bones.

“…to uh, be your um, be y-yours, your s-submissive.” Sabina’s voice is weak, shy, longing, mortified. She is actually shaking. Elena’s heart goes out to her girlfriend. But that’s nothing compared to Jane’s reaction.

The look Jane gives Sabina is nothing short of a taser to the genitals. Or at least that’s how Elena feels it from where she watches. Then Jane is standing in one smooth motion, threading her fingers through Sabina’s hair with both hands. Jane yanks Sabina up onto her tiptoes for one of the hottest kisses Elena can remember witnessing. It looks like Jane’s tongue might get stuck permanently down Sabina’s throat, it’s so deeply and aggressively penetrative. Sabina’s gone limp in Jane’s grasp like some kind of damsel in distress (yes please, Mistress!). Elena watches Sabina give it up for Jane, and let Jane take whatever she wants … and then some.

Elena can’t breathe! That’s fine, that’s fine. Breathing’s overrated.

When her girlfriends f.i.n.a.l.l.y. come up for air, the look Jane shoots Sabina is pure wolf.

“Mine,” she declares huskily, and Elena has to admit, Jane is very good at the Domme gig. Like, a complete natural.

It looks like Elena’s hypothesis was accurate. Testing probably won’t be necessary. Yet it should happen anyway! Repeatedly! Just to be on the safe side.

For science! Do it for science.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

The three of them are cuddling close in bed one evening, debriefing their personal #MissionReplaster in preparation for their next professional mission. It’s about a month after Sabina discovered that she subs for Jane like nobody’s business. Tomorrow, they all have a briefing appointment at Angel’s HQ, in preparation for their first mission back in the field as a team-of-three.

Elena has completed a couple of tech-focused missions in the last fortnight, one alone, and one teaming up with Sakura (who seems fine with Elena in the aftermath of their ‘battle in the basement’, icy polite with Jane, and rides Sabina hard at every opportunity … but in that friend kind of way). Jane has come into headquarters over the last month for mandatory therapy which she has passed with flying colours, but this will be her first active mission since #MissionDisaster. Sabina’s mandatory therapy is still ongoing, but she has finally been cleared as mission-ready, even so. This will be Sabina’s first mission back, too.

Sabina is in the middle, which is by far her preferred location. Elena likes the middle too, but she seems happy to swap out whenever she suspects Sabina needs it more (selfless sweetie that she is). Mostly, the two-of-them take turns. Jane rarely chooses centre position, and mostly prefers to be a ‘bracket’ as Sabina terms the two outer positions. Jane likes her space.

“It’s been a success,” Elena announces happily. “We are star performers.” Sabina smirks at her girlfriend in the candlelight:

“Yeah, boo. But only because of your stellar science-ing and guidance.”

“That’s true,” says Jane, coming through as Sabina’s mission backup, right on cue. “I don’t think we could have made such appreciable progress without you, Lena.”

Elena glows happily, receiving their praise like only she can. Both Sabina and Jane are uncomfortable with praise; Sabina has some kind of love-hate allergic reaction to it, and Jane usually just goes more-stoic-than-usual … or shy (which is unbelievably cute). Elena on the other hand receives approval like the gift it is and basks in it openly. Sabina’s all gooey: it’s beautiful to witness. Inconceivable but totally Elena Houghlin.

Sabina threads her fingers through Elena’s and turns her head to press a soft kiss to Elena’s cheek. Elena sighs happily and rubs Sabina’s belly softly in small smooth circles, under Sabina’s shirt. Elena’s touch is a little comforting and a little arousing … and all kinds of perfect.

“We’re still not fully a-okay,” admits Sabina, rolling onto her back to exchange a knowing glance with Jane. Her girlfriend is resting on one elbow, watching Sabina and Elena affectionately. Jane’s free hand stroke-drags slowly down the side of Sabina’s face, in a gesture both adoring and possessive. Sabina feels the heat rise to her face. Whatever this newly ‘out in the open’ D/s dynamic is between herself and Jane, it’s made a world of difference. Everything is the same, yet everything is different. Their conflict has converted into powerplay, their regular bouts of animosity into mastery meets slavish-devotion. 

“I’m released from therapy,” Jane points out, voice lightly teasing.

“Yeah,” agrees Sabina, a tad sulkily, because she isn’t. “But that’s because you’re better at faking it then me.”

Once this comment would have provoked Jane. Now she only smirks agreement:

“I am.”

Elena looks a little upset.

“Jane, I don’t like that you…” she pauses delicately … “manage Angel management.”

Jane looks a little upset in response. Sabina knows that Jane’s especially susceptible to wanting-to-keep-Elena-happy, since Sabina suffers from the same malady.

“I’m okay,” Jane tells Elena quietly, because they all know that this is the true source of Elena’s concern. “The PTSD symptoms have diminished by 80-90%; you said so yourself in yesterday’s #MissionReplaster update.”

This, Sabina thinks, is a masterful answer. One might even suspect Jane of attempting to manage Elena! However, masterful as Jane might be at saying all the right things to Saints and Bosleys, and appearing ultra-cool, calm, and professional in work-related assessments, her girlfriends are another matter. Sabina knows that Elena trumps both herself and Jane in emotional intelligence … at least when Elena isn’t glitched-out in Crazy Genius tech-mode. It’s a fucking boon for their triad! Sabina doesn’t know if Elena knows just how grateful Sabina is. Without it, would the three-of-them even still be together? And so unbelievably happy too!

Sabina has EQ* in spades herself (which is how she picks up on Elena’s); it’s what makes her so good at charming her marks. Only problem is, Sabina’s EQ endowment is wonky: while she has stacks of social awareness (sucks for her marks!) and a fair amount of self-awareness, she does less well on relationship management … and woefully on self-management. Like woefully lowfully, embarrassingly, badly.

“That’s not 100%,” returns Elena to Jane, engaging Gentle Lover mode mixed with Scientist mode, by Sabina’s amused estimation. “And 10-20% is a margin of error that could – possibly not probably – go badly on the field.”

Jane blinks, conceding. Sabina hides a grin. Masterfully, done, Elena …

“Still,” Jane is making a comeback! Sabina’s keen to hear what she’ll come up with next. “If Saint’s cleared Sabina for a mission while still needing therapy, that suggests I’d definitely be cleared. Judging by our statistics.”

Sabina blinks and scowls. Hey, not fair!

“…You’re right.” Elena is conceding now. Sabina scowls bigger. Totally not fair! She hates it when her girlfriends gang up on her.

“Oh, stop scowling,” Jane’s voice is lightly teasing. Her finger is teasing too, where it trails over Sabina’s nose and philtrum before snagging under her lower lip. Jane doesn’t do anything more; just rests her finger there assessingly. Sabina lies still and lets her because, it’s Jane. Her Mistress. Her fucking hot girlfriend with legs for days whom she would do anything for, and she really hopes that Jane will let her go down on her before they all …

“All better,” laughs Elena, leaning up to watch them interact. “Bina’s not scowling anymore.”

Sabina scowls again; she hates being talked about in the third person.

“Ah ah ah!” says Jane, finger travelling slowly under Sabina’s bottom lip, side to side. It feels good: teasing, soothing, oddly vulnerable. Sabina forgets about scowling; her eyes droop shut.

“Cute!” coos Elena, pressing a soft kiss to Sabina’s cheek.

“Very,” agrees Jane, a smile in her voice.

Sabina grins. She can’t help it.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

The Angels are at their local HQ, suiting up for their mission. The dressing room is lavish as always and Elena enjoys how hot they all look. Sometimes when they’re ‘costuming up’ (as Sabina puts it) Elena feels like she’s playing Barbie dolls, only with adults, and she’s one of the dolls. Elena always did enjoy playing Barbies …

Sabina is half-undressed, shimmying her (fine) ass into tight red pants. They are made of what looks like leather, but Elena knows it’s actually a special leather-like material created in an Angels lab for its flexibility, breathability, and durability. It’s more like low-level body armour, and less like a cupholder for Sabina’s ass. Elena shakes her head a little. When did she get so horny?

“You’re always horny when we costume up, babygirl,” says Sabina, as though she can tell exactly what Elena’s thinking. Maybe she can. Elena has noticed that about Sabina – she’s right on the money when it comes to social awareness: practically psychic at times. It’s a gift, great on the field … but also a little scary to be on the receiving end of, if Elena would rather hide something. Fortunately, it’s rare that Elena hides anything. She prefers honesty and transparency: the cornerstones of fulfilling relationships (in her book).

“What’s this?” Elena decides to create a diversion from her horniness. She lifts a pair of stylish sunglasses to her eyes and remembers the first time she played dress-up with her gorgeous girlfriends. Only back then Elena was in glorified protective custody and Sabina and Jane were the cool-yet-hot ‘sexy lady spies’ she kept making a fool of herself, in front of.

Just like the first pair, these sunglasses bring up a tech-overlay and scan Sabina, delivering vital mission intel straight to Elena’s waiting gaze. She is unsurprised to see Sabina’s familiar criminal record scrolling past, and various medical signals like her body heat, heartbeat, and breathing rate. Elena is surprised to see a 50% threat level in place of where there used to be a flashing warning of 100%.

“I know what you’re doing,” smirks Sabina, with a wink. “Can’t fool me, babe.” Sabina slides into a shimmery silver halter neck that leaves very little to the imagination; mission destination: nightclub. Elena stares at Sabina, still scanning the info overlay. Is it Elena? Is it because Elena is a fully trained super-spy now … thus making Sabina less dangerous to her? Elena turns the glasses towards Jane: 100% threat level. Jane gives her a level look, and Elena shoots her head back to Sabina’s direction: 100%. Oh! So that was a glitch then? Or … she imagined it?

“Stop fooling around, sexy,” Sabina teasingly grabs the glasses and places them back on their stand. “Aren’t you gonna show us your outfit?”

Elena shakes her head a little, deciding that she needs to focus. Her mission outfit is a classic ‘little black dress’ only it’s green, velvety, and littler than the average LBD.

Once dressed Elena catches Sabina and Jane outright leering at her, which she hypothesises indicates the sexiness level of her outfit. Whatever this velvety material is, it moves easily, and Elena carefully hides her Glock 19 pistol and emergency pocketknife (16 functions!) in her matching green ankle boots (because where else can she possibly fit them?).

Elena turns to the mirror to do her makeup and uses the opportunity to spy on Jane. Her girlfriend is adjusting a devastating lowcut and formfitting dress. It’s long, slit up both thighs, and made of the same shimmery material as Sabina’s top but in bronze. The complementary contrast with Jane’s dark shade of skin makes Elena want to run her tongue up the slits in the skirt, tracing Jane’s long legs everywhere the material parts.

“Kill me now,” murmurs Sabina, staring at Jane obviously. “I don’t think I’ll be able to focus on the mission.”

“Oh, you’ll focus,” Jane tells Sabina, commands her really. “Or you won’t get your reward, later.”

Sabina snaps to attention, puppy-dog excited:

“Yes Mistress.”

Maybe as recently as three weeks ago such a response would have set Jane off. But now that Jane has Sabina so … well in hand, Elena’s noticed that Jane interprets Sabina’s banter differently. It’s almost as though it’s no threat to Jane now, whereas before she used to get defensive. Elena thinks it’s fascinating; her girlfriends are fascinating. Is it creepy that she’d like to study them in the lab?

“Good girl,” purrs Jane, which makes Sabina blush crimson, and Elena’s panties dampen. This last fortnight, they’ve started to introduce Jane and Sabina’s D/s dynamic to group sex with all three-of-them, cautiously yet ecstatically feeling their way forward together. It’s just happened this way; Elena can sense that the timing is finally right.

Elena doesn’t share the undercurrent of constant powerplay that is unique to Jane and Sabina, and nor does she want to: that’s her girls, the combination of their elements. It’s been a part of their unique dynamic for as long as she’s known them, now that she recognises it in hindsight.

What Elena has discovered within herself, is a healthy enjoyment of switching: bdsm-talk for loving both Domming and subbing. Conveniently she has access to an impossibly cute sub-type (Sabina) to dominate (notwithstanding that Sabina is also a switch), and an awe-inspiring Dom-type (Jane) to worship. Elena’s into it. Sabina and Jane are into it. Everyone’s so into it. There’s so much to discover, enjoy, wrangle …

They haven’t stopped having sex in other flavours including the sweet and sensual lovemaking that first introduced Elena to her girlfriends’ bodies. They still have sex both as couples and a throuple, as it plays out organically between them. It’s just that they’ve added a secret dish, dark and steamy-spicy. So spicy.

Elena follows her armed-to-the-teeth, groomed-to-the-nines hot-AF super-spy girlfriends out the costume closet, already fantasizing about helping Jane deliver Sabina’s reward …

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Sabina is seated at the bar of the ritzy nightclub that their mission is taking place in, Fly High. Thanks to the fallout from #MissionDisaster, it’s a long time since she’s been in grifter role, her most specialised skillset (and an invaluable asset to the Angels). Sabina’s missed it. There’s just something about playing off a mark, and playing them, that gets her juices flowing!

This time her mark is a woman, which is less common. A beautiful woman too, about Bosley’s age: long auburn hair and ivory skin, well-endowed, classily dressed in a way that displays her endowment … classily …

“Sabina.” Bosley’s voice sounds in her ear. The mark won’t hear it, but her teammates will: Bosley has set comms on broadcast-to-team. Of course, Sabina has to communicate with her team in such a way that the mark won’t be tipped off that she’s carrying on a three-way conversation. Wait, since Sabina will also be talking to the mark, that makes this a four-way, doesn’t it?

Sabina eyes the mark appreciatively who is currently sipping her wine in such a way that her endowment is even more classily displayed. Yeah, Sabina wouldn’t mind a four-way with ... what’s her name? Has Sabina even asked for it yet?

“Sabina, you’re getting distracted,” says Bosley, a touch disapproving, a touch resigned. Maybe even a touch amused.

“I’m Briar,” Sabina tells the mark, her voice huskier than usual. She delicately picks up her mark’s wineglass and drains it dry. The woman gapes at her.

“Buy you another?” flirts Sabina. Without waiting for an answer, she turns to the bartender. “One more of these for…” she turns enquiringly to the mark, who is now smirking. Yeah, Sabina’s read her rightly …

“Yolanda,” purrs the mark. “Yolanda Riverson.”

“Nice to meet you, Yolanda,” Sabina purrs right back. “What brings you out tonight?”

They make small talk in-between flirting and drinking wine. Normally Sabina would go for something stronger, but she is on the clock.  Besides it just makes sense to match a mark’s tastes, and Sabina reads Yolanda as a wealthy cultured 40-something in desperate need of a lesbian awakening. ‘Briar’ fits that bill but needs to be more subtle and restrained than Sabina in her natural state. Otherwise, Yolanda will scare off.

Sabina’s top priority tonight is to keep Yolanda good and distracted so that Jane and Elena can sneak undetected into the club’s backroom. The Angels are searching for incriminating evidence of the dangerously laced drugs that Fly High has been pushing on the side. Yolanda is the estranged and soon-to-be-divorced wife of the club’s owner, Yakov Riverson, who is currently away on ‘business’.

In their mission briefing, Bosley revealed that the Townsend Agency suspects Yolanda of being the true source of the dirty drugs as some kind of revenge plot against her husband. But the authorities have no proof: Sabina’s second priority is to find out the truth, if possible, within the parameters of priority #1.

“We’re in,” Sabina hears Jane tell Bosley, over comms.

“That’s so funny,” Sabina says to Yolanda, making sure to touch her mark’s knee, lingeringly. “What did he say then?”

“No sight of any security.” Elena.

“That he wouldn’t pay a penny more!” Yolanda giggles tipsily. More wine = less classy. Sabina makes sure to gesture for the bartender to refill their glasses (yet again).

“What a loser,” Sabina says. “To risk losing you…” she angles herself forward a little, so that the lights catch the silver of her top where it cascades over her own cleavage. Sabina’s eyes linger deliberately on Yolanda’s parted lips.

“Briar…” husks Yolanda, leaning in, then pausing. She’s not bold enough to kiss Sabina, by Sabina’s expert estimation. But Yolanda is certainly tipsy enough to make it obvious that she wants Sabina to kiss her.

“I’m downloading their laptop’s hard drive to our Angel-drive.” Elena. “Estimated six minutes to completion.”

“Roger that.” Jane, abrupt. “No sign of drugs on a cursory sweep. Searching more in-depth.”

“Keep an eye out for firearms.” Bosley. “There’s a rumour that this place traffics them on the side. Unconfirmed.”

“Will do.” Jane.

Sabina leans in, lips slightly parted. Anticipation is the name of the game. Anticipation brings all the girls to the yard. And the boys. And the enbys!* Can Sabina help it if her milkshake is better than yours?*

“Sabina, lipstick!” points out Bosley, cock-blocking her just in time. Oh crap, Sabina forgot she’d applied the Angels’ special tranquiliser lipstick. She doesn’t wear it that often; she prefers room for innovation when working a mark - and that means room for making out (yeah baby!). But Bosley insisted tonight. Yolanda is supposed to be a high-level threat (Sabina isn’t sure that assessment’s accurate), and Sabina’s active therapy means she’s not at full clearance. Which is the equivalent of saying that she has to wear floaties in the pool, even though she knows how to swim just fine.

Hurriedly Sabina raises her hand to catch Yolanda’s jaw and prevent their lips actually touching. Hopefully that move looked smooth enough. Sabina thinks not …

Yolanda’s eyes widen in surprise. Sabina notices how green they are, a paler green than Sabina’s own. Yolanda’s eyes gaze into hers – assessingly? Oh wait now, that’s not flirtation Sabina is seeing, that’s recognition. Oh shit! Sabina’s been made. Or … has she?

Inside Sabina’s freaking out. Outside she’s as cool as a lesbian awakener.

“Don’t you want to?” husks Yolanda, eyes drifting back to Sabina’s lips. The two-of-them are still inches apart, Sabina’s hand cupping Yolanda’s jaw.

“Oh, I want to,” says Sabina with feeling, entirely honest. Hey, she’s polyamorous, not dead. Being in an official relationship with two dream-babes doesn’t mean that Sabina doesn’t sincerely lust after many, many other people, hot marks included. It just means that she plays within the bounds of the ‘triad holding pattern’ that’s developed with her girls … and since they’re all spy-types and she’s a master grifter, that means grifting.*

Sabina wants to be in an open relationship … unlike Jane and Elena, who have revealed that they both want to be a closed triad. The three-of-them haven’t come to a resolution on the sexual exclusivity issue, and as a result all that Sabina knows for sure is … she’s too much of a pussy to bring it up again. She doesn’t want to hear the (likely) answer! It might mean that Sabina can’t do … whatever it is that Yolanda and herself are about to do …

“So do it,” husks Yolanda, almost tauntingly.

“Yeah, Briar, do it!” That’s Elena’s bitchy voice. It’s rare to hear Elena use it. Sabina leans back a little. Is she in trouble?

“Elena!” Bosley snaps. “The mission!” This is shorthand for the mission comes first and is also a reprimand: Elena’s outburst might distract Sabina from fulfilling her mission - their mission.

When Sabina, Elena, and Jane f.i.n.a.l.l.y. got together officially as girlfriends (which took twelve months of pining, awkward flirting, and assorted freakouts and confessions) Bosley had noticed (of course).* Sabina herself had confirmed it to Bosley, since she’d discovered Bosley had been secretly betting on the likely outcome of the Angels’ relationships (along with half of Angels’ HQ) … and Sabina had wanted to rub Bosley’s face in it (irresistible!).* Not long after, Bosley called the three-of-them into her office and gave them Charlie’s version of ‘the talk’.* The gist was that if they wanted to stay together on the field, they must never let their personal togetherness interfere with their professionalism. The moment Bosley (or Saint) noticed the Angels’ triad interfere with their mission readiness … would probably be the moment they were disbanded.

So far, they’d all done an excellent job of convincing Bosley (and Charlie by extension) that their polyamorous partnership only enhanced their Angels’ partnership. This was something the three of them had discussed lengthily in private and set as their ‘secret top priority’ to be adhered to during all missions.* The last thing they wanted was to risk their (so fulfilling) teamship!  

So, Sabina is more than a little surprised at what just happened … and truth be told, thrown. Yet she can’t afford to show it, lest Bosley catches on and cancels their OT3* …

Long seconds have ticked past since Yolanda husked her challenge. Sabina pulls herself together and bites her own bottom lip (a move she knows brings them all to the yard), grazing her thumb over Yolanda’s cheek. Great bone structure, Sabina notes absently.

Yolanda visibly gulps. Sabina bends her head down and lightly nips Yolanda’s neck: the tranquilizer lipstick only works on sensitive lip-skin, which it permeates almost instantly. It’s been designed to not enter body skin, although sometimes that goes wrong and it still has a tranquilizing effect, just delayed and much weaker. Looks like Sabina is playing Russian Roulette tonight!

Yolanda moans, and leans into Sabina’s teeth.

“No drugs.” Jane over comms. “No weapons. Except for an antique kukri, mounted on the wall.”

“Nice…” says Sabina. She is very into kukris! She knows Jane knows this and hopes Jane will liberate the weapon on her behalf. It’s what Sabina would do on her own behalf, if she wasn’t occupied necking a beautiful woman.

“You like that?” murmurs Yolanda, eyelids fluttering. Sabina places a conciliatory lick where she just nipped.

“I’m not stealing it,” says Jane drily. Obviously, she picked up on Sabina’s subtext. That’s how well-oiled their unit is.

“Please baby,” husks Sabina, directed at Jane, and ambiguous enough that she hopes Yolanda will take it as affirmation that Sabina does indeed ‘like that’.

“How long, Elena?” Bosley.

“Three minutes.” Elena sounds antsy.

Sabina gets to work creating a hickey. Yolanda’s hands have come up to stroke through Sabina’s long blonde hair, which she can’t feel much of, since it’s actually a well-designed wig. Well-designed or not, the wig is a flight risk which might reveal Sabina’s true identity. Time for evasive manoeuvres!

Sabina makes an executive decision to slide off her barstool in favour of standing in front of Yolanda, nestling between her mark’s (luscious) legs. Yolanda’s back is to the bar, and Sabina thoroughly enjoys the thrill of seduction, as she leans forward to paint a long lick along the ivory line of vulnerable throat. Now this is something Sabina’s Good. At.

“Got it.” Elena.

“Let’s go.” Jane.

“Great work, Angels.” Bosley. “Confirming that Sabina has her target well in hand. You’re safe to exit the club. Once you’re clear, Sabina will disengage as soon as she can, and join you.”

Sabina pout-grumbles into the soft-most hollow of Yolanda’s perfumed throat. Fortunately, this sounds enough like a sexily aroused noise to pass muster. Or … she hopes it does. Out of the corner of her eye Sabina catches familiar movement, and knows it is her girls, leaving Fly High. Sabina runs a teasing hand slowly up Yolanda’s side, keeping the distraction going.

Ten minutes and some heavy necking later, Sabina finds her plausible opening (closing?), and wishes Yolanda a flirtatious farewell. Sabina exits the club, a little unsteady thanks to however many glasses of wine, and scans the parking lot. There! The souped-up Jaguar XF in frosty blue. Such a cool sportscar must be their getaway vehicle. Besides, Sabina saw Bosley pull it up in a cloud of dust, the other day outside Angels’ HQ - just back from a test drive. Or from a ‘quality coffee’ run. One or the other. Sabina sashays across the lot, and hops in the backseat through the open sunroof, via an aerial acrobatic move. Why open doors when the roof’s already open?

“Show-off.” Jane sounds fondly amused. She’s in the driver’s seat, already pulling out the carpark. Elena in the passenger seat has her arms crossed tightly. Sabina feels a sinking upset. Uh-oh, pissy girlfriend alert. It’s very hard to upset Elena too … this is going to be excruciating …

“All clear, Angels?” Bosley over comms.

“Aye aye,” says Sabina, peering out the back windshield. “Nil on pursuers.”

“Well done,” says Bosley. “Mission stage one, complete.”

Sabina does her best impression of a crowd going wild. She sees Jane smirk at her in the rear-view mirror, but Elena doesn’t meet her eyes. Sabina catches Jane throwing Elena a concerned glance.

“See you at HQ for debriefing,” says Bosley. “Drive safe, Angels.”

Sabina slouches down in her seat and pouts.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

They are all getting ready for bed, post mission. Debriefing with Bosley went smoothly, and the Angels even got permission to borrow the Jaguar XF for the weekend. That’s one of the perks of their job: spy toys on loan – such as all the leather jackets that fill Sabina’s third of their closet.

Elena is exhausted, more so than she thinks she really should be. After all, she didn’t do much on this mission; everything went swimmingly. Well, most things. Elena’s tech job was a breeze. Jane didn’t have to beat up even one thug. And Sabina …

Elena frowns to herself as she stands in their bedroom, remembering. Sabina had almost been made, just because Elena couldn’t rein herself in.

“What’s wrong?” Jane asks Elena softly, direct to the heart. Sabina is out in the kitchen – probably chugging milk from the fridge, knowing tipsy post-grifting Sabina – Jane has stepped in close to Elena, her hands hovering over Elena’s arms, silently offering a hug if she wants one. Oh, but she does! Elena steps into Jane’s supportive embrace with a sigh, and melts into Jane.

“It’s silly,” Elena says, and squirms as she feels herself begin to tear up. “I just … got so jealous, all of a sudden.”

“Over me?” Sabina has entered their bedroom and overheard. Elena burrows into Jane’s chest and refuses to look at Sabina.

“Baby…” Sabina sounds upset, and tipsy, and completely out-of-her-depth. “Tell me what to do…”

“It’s okay to feel jealous,” says Jane, arms tightening around Elena. “We’ve all been there.”

“Guilty,” Sabina nods animatedly, perching on the end of their bed. Elena has turned her head to rest side-on against Jane’s chest, so that she can see her other girlfriend too. Her stupid, lovable, ultra-seductive, charming and cool, clueless, so very annoying girlfriend. Who has pretty much told Elena and Jane that she doesn’t get jealous,* meaning that Sabina is just saying the party line right now … obviously to try and get Elena to not-be-mad.

“I’m mad at you,” Elena tells Sabina, glaring through her tears. Sabina’s eyes widen in alarm.

“No, Lena,” she practically whines. “Don’t be mad!”

“Let her be mad,” Jane referees Sabina, and Elena feels relieved. Sabina’s eyes widen even more, and it’s almost comical until Elena remembers Sabina’s fear of all things abandonment-related.

“It’s okay, Bina,” Jane tells Sabina, and her voice is so soft and reassuring, very un-Jane-like. Elena thinks that Jane sounds a bit like she’s addressing a spooked horse. “We’re all fine; everything will be okay. Elena can feel mad. You’re okay; we’re okay.”

Elena blinks. That was perfect: she is so grateful to Jane right now. She watches as Sabina blinks a little, taking in what Jane said. Then Sabina flops backwards on their bed with a sigh, clearly just as tired as Elena.

“Let’s talk it out in the morning,” Elena decides aloud.

“That would be more efficient,” agrees Jane, rubbing a comforting hand over Elena’s back.

“Sleep for the win,” mumbles Sabina, already sounding part-way there.

Elena and Jane join Sabina after some final preparations, and Elena lies down next to her tipsy girlfriend. Because yeah, she’s mad, but she also loves Sabina and doesn’t want her to fret, and Elena’s also dimly aware that her jealousy isn’t necessarily Sabina’s fault.

“Want to be in the middle?” Jane asks Elena, and she nods, blinking back tears.

“Can I … touch you?” asks Sabina, and Elena nods quickly. Sabina cuddles in tight, and Jane cradles Elena so that she’s little spoon to Jane’s big spoon. Elena smiles through her tears as she falls asleep.

Three is better than two.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

It’s morning and Jane is propped up against their bed’s lacy pillow mountain, holding Elena supportively as she nestles between Jane’s legs, Elena’s back leaning against Jane’s front. Sabina is lying side-on at the end of their bed, propped up on one elbow, facing her girlfriends.

It’s a testament to how upset Elena must be that they’re hashing this out in their bedroom: Elena would normally insist that they take it somewhere else. Elena fears that angsty vibes will pollute their bedroom vibes, or something to that effect. Jane thinks that’s (utter!) nonsense, but she goes along with it, as she does with so many things to do with Elena Houghlin.

Soft, that’s what Jane is. Soft on this woman. She runs a soothing hand down one of Elena’s arms, admiring the olive shade of her girlfriend’s skin. Jane looks to Sabina and feels a twinge of compassion: there’s obvious fear in Sabina’s expressive green eyes. She’s freaking out; it’s time to do damage control.

“Bina,” says Jane, keeping her voice soft deliberately. “Do you want to come up here and cuddle?”

Sabina moves so fast it’s practically a spy-move. She burrows under Jane’s beckoning arm and snuggles into Jane’s side. This means Elena can’t make eye contact with Sabina, but Jane has a feeling that’s probably more supportive for both her girlfriends, just now. (Jane has good mission instincts!)

“Do you, um,” Sabina chews her lip nervously, “want to talk?” It’s directed at Elena, and Jane and Sabina both wait to see what Elena will say.

“Yes,” says Elena, teary already. “No. I don’t know. Yes, we probably should.” She starts to cry.

Jane tightens the arm she has wrapped around Elena’s midriff and makes comforting noises. She also tightens the arm she has around Sabina, pulling Sabina against her side even closer. Jane knows what to do for her girls; her body knows. That’s instincts for you. They only work when Jane is completely unfazed by whatever relational drama is underway (which is rare), but when they work, they work.

“I’m sorry, Lena,” says Sabina, sounding desperate.

“Don’t say that!” snaps Elena. “Unless you know what you’re saying sorry for!”

“Um … sorry?” offers Sabina weakly. Fear is thick in her voice.

Elena sighs. She sounds both angry and empathic when she speaks again.

“Bina, you’re just saying sorry because you’re scared. And that sucks for me.”

“Uh…” Sabina trails off. “Help, Jane,” she finally husks weakly, voice muffled where it’s hiding against Jane’s breast. Jane looks down at Sabina’s tousled bleached-plus-dark-roots bedhead, affectionately. Sabina is asking for Jane to intervene for them and admitting that she’s out of her depth just now. It makes Jane feel … so fucking tender.

“Breathe, Sabina,” instructs Jane, softly yet firmly. “Do the 4-7-8 technique.* We’ll wait.” She presses a kiss to Elena’s head. “In fact, let’s do it with her, sweetheart.”

They all breathe together, in sync. Jane feels anxiety draining away that she didn’t even know was there. Her body relaxes, shoulders dropping, attention gaining enhanced focus. Hmm, maybe they should add this technique to their pre-mission warmup routine …

When it’s completed, Elena moves out of Jane’s arms so that she’s sitting facing them both, cross-legged and propped up on a few plush cushions. She looks endearing in her fuzzy cow patch pyjamas, though her wet eyes make Jane’s heart clench.

“Do you understand what I mean,” Elena asks Sabina, “about saying sorry?”

Sabina seems much calmer now, though Jane can somehow sense an edge of fear lingering. Sabina screws up her face (cutely, thinks Jane), and takes a deep breath.

“Uh…no, not really. Uh s…” she cuts herself off. They all know Sabina was about to apologise again.

“I only want you to say sorry,” explains Elena seriously, “if you really mean it. If there’s something you’ve done that you feel is wrong and you want to stop doing it. And feel bad about hurting me.”

Elena’s so good with her words, thinks Jane. The best of all three-of-them, by a longshot. She’s good for them, their Lena. Jane feels like she’s gained so much emotional capacity, just by being exposed to Elena’s soft-yet-intelligent approach on a regular basis. Jane was always excellent at picking up an opponent’s battle moves, and while it isn’t the same deal picking up Elena’s emotional moves, there is still a certain something that’s getting translated, over time.

“Oh,” says Sabina, and she appears to be thinking hard. Finally, she offers: “I’m not sorry then.”

Elena nods slowly, lips trembling. Jane scowls; this isn’t going so well … but Elena doesn’t seem overly put out or at least, she’s pressing on:

“Why not?”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” says Sabina baldly, running a nervous hand through her hair, messing it up even more than its already crazed state. “I don’t think.” Elena nods slowly:

“Okay.”

“Okay?” asks Jane, confused. “Aren’t we going to talk about you feeling jealous?”

“Yeah,” says Elena softly, and she sounds upset but in control. “I felt jealous, like really jealous, Sabina. And I also feel stupid about that, and guilty.”

“You do?” says Sabina, wide-eyed. “But why?”

“I … know there’s no reason to feel jealous,” admits Elena, crossing her arms uncomfortably. “I know that, intellectually. But in my heart, I feel … bad.”

“You feel bad?” Sabina’s face is a comical (to Jane) display of empathy mixed with confusion. Jane can tell Sabina is itching to do whatever’s needed to make Elena feel better, stat. She can also tell Sabina doesn’t have a clue what to do. It’s priceless. (Okay, so Jane has a bit of a sadistic streak, she’s aware…)

“I feel bad,” Elena confirms, and a tear trickles down her cheek.

“Oh, babygirl!” Sabina has switched into damage control mode. “I don’t want that! How do I make it better…” Jane is somehow unsurprised when Sabina stalks along the bed in a crawl that’s a weird mix of sexy, engaging and awkward-as-fuck. Sabina ends up in front of Elena, gently wiping away the tear. Elena lets her, which must mean Sabina’s doing something right. But Jane has just had an insight:

“You make everything sexual,” Jane tells Sabina bluntly. “Even just now. You’re trying to fix this with sex.”

“What, me?!” Sabina points a thumb at her chest, and again it’s a strange and supremely-Sabina mix of awkward, charming, and sexual. Elena giggles wetly.

“Oh, Janey, yes, that’s it. Bina, you’re like, sexual, all the time.”

Sabina lifts her hands up in confusion, and shrugs.

“Um, thank you?”

Jane finds herself laughing in tandem with Elena. Sabina is looking even more confused.

“I guess,” says Elena, “that I’m jealous because … you’re so incredibly sexy.” She gives Sabina a meaningful look that’s so intense that it has Jane squirming in place.

Sabina nods adamantly as though she knows what Elena’s talking about, but her expression makes it clear that she is Lost. At. Sea. Classic Sabina. Jane is simultaneously amused and touched by her adorable girlfriends and their idiotic ways.

“Practically everyone wants you,” says Elena mournfully. “And you encourage them. You flirt with, like, everything that moves. You looked like you were going to fuck that mark on the bar.”

“I was thinking about it,” admits Sabina, which is probably not the right thing to say …

“I know!” Elena says it like it’s case closed. “And I’m jealous!”

“Oh,” says Sabina sitting back on her heels. “But … I love you.”

“I know that,” says Elena, biting her lip, a little.

“And,” Sabina looks a bit desperate, “I find you incredibly sexy! I fantasise about you all the time, Lena. Last night even, I had a wet dream about you. And we have sex together on the regular. And it’s fantastic.”

“I know that,” repeats Elena. Her face is red. Jane is grinning now, she can’t help herself. So cute. Just so damn cute: the two of them.

“So um…” Sabina chews on her bottom lip. “What do I do?” There’s a short pause.

“I don’t think you do anything, Bina,” Elena finally offers, soft and chagrined. “You are the way you are; you’ve always been this way, as long as I’ve known you.”

“I have!” Sabina nods eagerly. But then her frantic nodding slows, and she adds uncertainly, “but it never hurt you… before…”

“I was never in a relationship with you before,” murmurs Elena. She throws Jane a loving look. “And with Jane. I think that … changes things, somehow.”

“Oh,” mumbles Sabina. “Well, I don’t want you to hurt, baby. But … I want to flirt. I love flirting. And I love grifting! I’m so good at it, y’know? It’s one of the few things where I really feel like I’m worth something.”

“Sabina …” Jane can’t help herself. Her voice is soft yet reprimanding. Sabina’s eyes flash to hers. “You’re worth everything.” Jane’s voice is adamant; steel. Sabina blinks at her. Looks down. Flushes. Looks back up. Looks away shyly.

Elena reaches out to take Sabina’s hand.

“Everything,” she confirms with a soft smile.

“You too, Lena,” Sabina tells her sincerely. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” Elena allows Sabina to kiss her cheek. Then her other one. She is smiling and Jane sees that her upset has melted away, at least for now.

Suddenly Elena grabs Sabina’s arm and pulls it closer.

“What’s th-that?” she asks, voice trembling. Sabina and Jane look at Sabina’s inner forearm. Clear as day, a phone number is scrawled along it with a love heart and a name: Yolanda. Sabina blushes:

“Ooh boy.”

Jane decides it’s time to go and get breakfast and leave her girlfriends to it. The worst of the emotional storm has passed, this is just an after shower. Besides, Jane is picking up vibes that her girlfriends will solve this by fucking it out, very soon. Just now she’s not in the mood for sex or voyeuring, she’s in the mood for coffee, strong.

So, Jane grins knowingly, and slides out of bed. Then she hesitates: this is a good opportunity to get some parting teasing in …

“Yolanda was hot,” Jane muses, sadistically enjoying the way Elena’s eyes shoot to hers, scandalised, and equally enjoying the way Sabina nods with a leer, and then catches herself, eyes darting fearfully to see if Elena noticed.

“I’d fuck her,” Jane adds offhandedly (a complete lie), just for the pleasure of seeing her girlfriends’ reactions.

“What?!” Elena squeaks. She’s turning red.

“Three-way?” suggests Sabina to Jane, before catching herself again, and then backing away as Elena turns on her and throws a pillow in her face.

With a satisfied smirk, Jane heads out. Mission accomplished, stirring complete.

Behind her she hears sounds that indicate wrestling, followed quickly by making out.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

The three-of-them are at Angels’ HQ to receive a mission briefing for stage two of what they began at Fly High nightclub. Their briefing with Bosley is scheduled in about an hour’s time. Sabina is with Saint, finishing up her mandatory therapy session. As far as she’s aware Jane and Elena are sparring in the training room.

“I don’t understand,” Sabina tells Saint sulkily from where she slouches on a comfy armchair in his therapy room. Saint sits across from Sabina in a matching chair, sipping one of his disgusting herbal tea concoctions. She can smell it from here: yech.

“I can’t clear you until you’re better,” Saint tells her calmly. “You know that. What, do you want me to fake it?”

“Yes!” Sabina runs her hands through her short hair in frustration. “I want to be with my girls; we should finish up this mission together, like we always do. And I am better, Saint. I’m so much fucking better. You should have seen how messed up I was after #MissionDisaster. I’m like, 350% better than that.”

“No doubt,” Saint says. “But that’s not the same as being at mission clearance level.”

Sabina glowers and sulks, because what else can she do? She racks her brains desperately for a way to convince him. Intel! She should gather more intel …

“So how exactly am I not better enough?”

Saint looks surprised. This is probably because it’s rare for Sabina to want to know details of her own medical or psychological treatments, to do more than half-heartedly resist them. One might even say, unprecedented.

“You’re…” Saint eyes her carefully. “Haphazard.”

“I’m always haphazard,” Sabina shrugs. It’s true.

“No, I mean you’re,” Saint makes a tipsy turvy motion with his hand, “on the fritz.”

“Huh?” Sabina is confused. She’s not a damned toaster.

“Sabina.” Saint stirs his tea, then meets her eyes, his own filled with such warmth that her own eyes sting unexpectedly. She really does love Saint. He takes such good care of them, of her – for years now. Sabina’s told him dark secrets that she’s never told anyone else, not even her girls. She doesn’t feel like she has to be careful around Saint; she doesn’t fear losing him the way she can’t help fearing it with her girlfriends on some deep-down trauma-conditioned level.

“I didn’t want to tell you this.” Saint takes a deep breath. “But since you ask…” he gets up and crosses to one of the medical tracking devices that he sometimes hooks her up to via various electrodes. There’s a display screen and he gestures her over.

“We’re not sure why exactly,” Saint tells Sabina, “or what it means, but your threat assessment level randomly decreases. Then goes back to normal. I’ve done a series of tests, biological and psychometric, and as far as I can make out it's some kind of PTSD response. If you get triggered, you sometimes … zone out.”

“Go on the fritz,” mutters Sabina, wide-eyed.

“Yeah,” says Saint. She rounds on him. Anger is always easier than other feelings.

“Why did you let me go on stage one, then?! I could’ve compromised our girls!”

“No, no,” Saint places a placating hand on Sabina’s shoulder, and doesn’t seem put out when she shrugs out of his grasp angrily (which she deeply appreciates, not that she can verbalise that). “Stage one was different. We put you on a soft mark; you weren’t in any danger. Jane and Elena handled the part that could get physical.”

“Bos said that the mark was ‘highly threatening’!” Sabina’s voice ends in an embarrassing squeak.

“Bosley lied.” Saint is still (frustratingly, endlessly) calm. “We were also closely monitoring your mission reactions. A lot of that mission was about viewing your performance in the field. We didn’t expect that Jane and Elena would get any company … Bos may have … talked up the likelihood of security…”

“So, did I pass?” Sabina can’t help it; her voice is bitter. She feels angry, upset, resentful.

“With flying colours,” Saint assures her. “Grifting capacity is stellar. But these machines don’t lie, Sabina. An unexpected … fritzing, is still a very real danger. And we still can’t work out what your triggers are exactly; they seem unexpected too.”

“Great,” mutters Sabina. “So, what happens now? Jane and Elena go … without me?”

“Yes,” says Saint, simply. “Bosley will assign them a new third, temporarily. Magda.”

“I thought Jane killed her?” asks Sabina, without really thinking about it. Her eyes shoot to Saint’s, shocked, and a terrible feeling shoots through her core. Burning shame. How could she have said that about Jane?! But, it’s true, isn’t it? Jane really did …

Saint regards Sabina levelly.

“No, that was Magda,” he says. “Not Sakura.”

“But you said…” Sabina stares at him, heart beating hard. Didn’t he just say ‘Magda’? What?!

“Who did Jane kill?” Saint asks Sabina, “tell me who, and how.” He’s using that gentle pressing voice that Sabina associates with therapy’s most unpleasant moments. She presses her eyes closed and thinks hard. She’s starting to get a headache.

“Um…” Sabina finally says, blinking open slowly. “Magda. With a kn-knife to the throat.” She chuckles thickly. “Bullseye.”

Saint eyes her.

“And um,” Sabina squeezes her eyes closed again. “The woman in red. Yeah. Yeah…” She opens her eyes, “and a terminator dude.”

“How?” Saint presses gently.

“Goo,” says Sabina with a shiver. “I mean, vaporisation,” she corrects herself, running her tongue over her teeth in an attempt to clear the nausea taste from her mouth.

“Good,” says Saint softly. “That’s good, Sabina. Now tell me, what about you? Who did you kill, and how?”

Sabina blinks stupidly at Saint, and just like that her voice has left the building. She couldn’t talk if she wanted to, and she definitely doesn’t want to.

“Bina?” he prompts.

“She called me that.” Suddenly Sabina’s voice is back, though it’s creaky. “I didn’t want her to.”

“Who, Sabina? Who didn’t you want to use that nickname?”

“M-Mandy.” Sabina closes her eyes and starts to cry. Mandy Rainer. Her friend, Mandy. Her wing woman. Oh God, oh God, she’d fucking vaporised Mandy. It can’t be true, it can’t be true …

“How did you kill her?” Saint, merciless.

“I puddled her,” yells Sabina, flipping her stack. She’s gone. Sabina doesn’t remember how it happened, but somehow she is out the room and away from the source of aggravation: those relentless questions, those dark probing eyes. Sabina is running fast, as fast as she can, breathing hard. She rounds a familiar corner; the boardroom. She sees the doorway where Mandy stood when …

Sabina is off again, fleeing, running for her life. Her heart feels like it will beat out her chest, she is thrumming with nothing but adrenaline and white-hot fear. She’ll explode, she’ll explode, any moment her heart will explode …

“Stop!” It’s Bosley, standing in Sabina’s path, one hand raised. Sabina sees her, yet she doesn’t, all at the same time. It’s meaningless to Sabina that Bosley wants her to stop. It’s impossible to stop. Sabina automatically lowers her head and shoulder, and charges. There. Easy. Bosley is bouncing off the wall, and Sabina’s escape path is clear. She flees onwards.

There is yelling around her, maybe even directed at her, and there are blurs that are probably the people she’s passing. Sabina ignores it, them, whatever, shuts it out. Runs faster. Her heart beats harder. God, it’s suffocating in here. She needs air. Where’s the outside, where’s the air?!

Suddenly Sabina is in the training room and on some level, she recognises her girlfriends standing in the sparring ring. There are other Angels in the room too. On some other (more pressing) level all these people are unimportant, merely in the way. Sabina swings about, looking desperately for the exit. It’s hard to concentrate, hard to know where she is, who she is, what matters. She knows she wants air! She doesn’t know where the air is. Signs are currently illegible. Words are gibberish. Nothing makes sense. She has to breathe!

There! Finally. A window, sunlight pouring through. It fills the wall and calls Sabina like a siren.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane is sparring with Elena and thoroughly enjoying herself. Fighting Elena is very different to being paired with Sabina. Jane and Sabina are much more equally matched in physical brawling ability, though Jane confidently (and quietly, she doesn’t rub it in) knows she has the edge. While Sabina is highly skilled, not to mention wild, and aerially-acrobatically talented, they are relatively close in agility and speed. Jane has one up on Sabina in strength, power, strategy and reading the room under pressure. She is better with most weapons (though often only just), and while Jane has picked up pretty much all of Sabina’s moves over time and can turn them back against her girlfriend, the same isn’t true of Sabina.

On top of all that, where Sabina sporadically falls apart, Jane just fights tougher, harder, smarter. It’s a close call sometimes to be sure, and Sabina gives Jane a better run for her money than most other Angels. But about 80% of the time, Jane is the victor - even if it’s by a short margin.

That all changes if Sabina enters ‘berserker mode’, according to her personnel file. Charlie and the Bosleys and Saints call Sabina’s mysterious ability ‘berserking’ because it’s just so apt. It’s only happened a couple times over the course of her Angels’ history, and it requires Sabina to be under extreme pressure: facing impossible odds … but even that doesn’t seem to be enough to activate it, for sure. Sabina can’t turn it on by will; it just happens. Just like the ancient Viking warrior berserkers, Sabina … flips out. In berserker mode Sabina will attack team members as readily as enemy targets … and will be the victor practically guaranteed.

Jane isn’t even supposed to know about Sabina’s berserking: it’s an Agency top secret. Jane only found out because of her secret habit of illicitly reading the personnel files of every Angel and Bosley she’s teamed up with. Elena knows courtesy of Jane, and Sabina knows that her girlfriends know. Yet Sabina refuses to talk with them about it, at least so far.*

Jane considers that it's a useful mode because it can turn the tide of an otherwise doomed battle; Strategist Jane is glad their team has it up their sleeve. It’s a dangerous mode because it means that Jane and Elena will have to watch themselves around Sabina’s berserking … making battles that much harder. Girlfriend Jane is a little freaked out by it and maybe (secretly) a little turned on (at least in theory), and she knows Elena is quietly disturbed. Sabina not being able to talk about it, let alone joke … means that Sabina herself must be Very. Disturbed, at least by Jane’s reckoning. That’s … disturbing, in and of itself.

In contrast to being paired up with Sabina, when sparring with Elena, Jane is practically guaranteed to win. It’s not that Elena hasn’t become a skilled and competent fighter: she has. It’s that Jane is the experienced and talented mixed-styles brawler of the team, and Elena’s specialty is tech, which she far surpasses both her girlfriends’ (competent, but hardly more than that) abilities at. So, fighting Elena is … relaxing, and stimulating, and sexy fun, for Jane. She pulls her punches about 70% of the time (not too much, because Elena needs to continue improving, and Jane doesn’t want to do her girlfriend a disservice). Unofficially Jane is in trainer-role, taking Elena under her wing while punching her silly.

Jane knows Elena enjoys their sparring too. Unlike Sabina, Elena’s ego doesn’t take a beating from losing or from noticing that Jane is going easy on her. Elena is merely grateful, curious to learn more, and aroused by all things Brawler Jane.

It’s good to have two girlfriends, two such different flavours …

Jane suddenly hears panicked yelling: multiple voices and pounding feet. There’s some kind of ruckus, close to their location and approaching fast. Jane holds up her hand in the signal to pause sparring, and she and Elena turn towards the door. A handful of other Angels are also using this training room, which is decked out like a gym, as well as having a sparring ring. Sakura, Tanith, Angie and Olawumi are using the mats, engaged in a mock four-way battle: practicing their two-on-two teamwork. Ashley is pumping iron on a weights bench, being spotted by a Bosley with a bushy black beard, that Jane doesn’t know too well.

Jane sees the other Angels have paused their activities too and they all listen alertly, automatically assessing threat level. It wasn’t that long ago that this very base went into emergency mode, with Angels and Bosleys splitting into factions over that damnable vaporiser. Two Angels had even died! (Jane quickly shies away from that line of thought, compartmentalising it adroitly.) The fallout is still with them all.

Sabina explodes into the room, full tilt, and Jane blinks back shock. Time slows down, the way it often does for Jane in a particularly tricky fight: some kind of adrenaline effect. Sabina swings around … looking for something? She looks … crazy. There’s really no other way to put it. Sabina’s eyes are wide and unseeing: she is sweating and shaking and gasping-wheezing for breath.

“Sabina!” Elena shouts, and Sabina’s eyes pass over Elena and Jane but there is no recognition.

Jane observes Sabina scan the room (for threats? a target? what?). And then Sabina is sprinting, all out, straight for the floor length window that looks out onto the front lawn: a wall of glass. Jane’s eyes widen. Sabina is going to smash through the window. She’ll injure herself badly, maybe worse. What is she doing?!

Just like that, Jane bursts into action. She throws herself across the room as fast as her body will move and dives for Sabina, an aerial tackle with all her weight and force behind it.

“Jane!” That’s Elena.

There are shouts and movement from the other Angels too. Jane’s trained peripheral awareness picks this up, but her laser focus is on Sabina only: on reaching her girlfriend in time. Their bodies smack together.

It’s an awkward tackle, a bad angle – there was no choice. Jane and Sabina roll over and over, tangled up together, a body’s-length shy of the window. The end up slamming into it anyway and bouncing off it a little but (small mercies) it doesn’t break. The force of the tackle mostly went through their bodies and the floor at the first moment of impact.

Jane pushes herself up on her elbows than hands, hovering over Sabina. Jane has ended up on top. Sabina is shaking her head muzzily, appearing half-stunned. Jane doesn’t think; she acts. She draws back her fist and slams it down into Sabina’s jaw, attempting a knockout punch.

Sabina’s head snaps back and to the side. She groans. She turns back slowly, looks at Jane, and then her eyes roll up in her head. Sabina’s out. Mission success.

“What are you doing?!” Elena is pulling frantically at Jane’s arm, and Jane allows her girlfriend to pull her up off her other (unconscious) girlfriend.

The other Angels and the Bosley gather around, keeping a healthy distance.

“Report,” snaps the Bosley, perhaps sensing there is more to the situation than first meets the eye, thanks to his leadership training. Jane meets his sharp eyes levelly.

“I neutralised a threat,” Jane says coolly, and hears Elena’s little gasp of pain, next to her. Jane doesn’t look at her girlfriend; Elena doesn’t understand. Yet.

“Something’s wrong,” Jane points out calmly, gesturing towards her unconscious girlfriend. “Sabina was clearly out of control, and about to jump through the window. That would cause injury, probably grave, maybe worse. This was better.”

The Bosley is nodding slowly. The other Angels have stepped into action: they are trained for it, after all. Two of them have retrieved a stretcher from a nearby supply closet.

“I called my Saint,” reports Olawumi. “He was just next door, he’ll be here in a...” she trails off as he enters the room at a fast walk-run, a ginger-haired man with a thick Irish accent.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” he says, already leaning over Sabina and running expert hands over her head, face, and neck, assessing for injury. “Was this really necessary?”

The black-bearded Bosley grants Jane a faintly approving glance:

“Yes, it was. Kano here tackled Wilson before she could smash through the window and knocked her out. Wilson was…” he clears his throat uncomfortably. “Uh … you know how she can get.”

At this assessment – and by a stranger-Bosley of all sources (although Jane suddenly realises that he must have worked with Sabina at some stage in order to know who she is and to refer to her berserking ability, albeit in code) – Jane feels a sudden wave of anger-shame ripple through her. Beside her, Elena takes Jane’s hand and squeezes. Elena, thank God for Elena. How on earth can she read Jane so well? Jane looks at her girlfriend and attempts a small smile of gratitude. It mustn’t come off very well because the look Elena’s giving her is heavy with concern.

“Let’s take her to the nearest med unit,” decides the Saint. “Neck brace, please.” Sakura hands him one, also from the supply closet.

Jane watches detachedly as the Saint expertly fixes the brace onto Sabina and then gestures for Olawumi and the Bosley to help him log roll Sabina onto the stretcher. They could probably risk lifting Sabina, Jane assesses, but this particular Saint is clearly all about playing it safe.

“Where is she?” It’s their team’s Saint, breathless, now entering the room.

“Saint!” calls Elena, gesturing him over.

“You’re her Saint?” asks the Irish Saint and the two Saints start to consult together. Suddenly their team’s Bosley 342 is there too, looking somewhat the worse for wear, bruising visible on her cheek and shoulder through her scoop necked shirt.

“What happened to you?” wonders Jane, and her accent comes out a little more clipped than usual. Her tongue and teeth feel clumsy.

“Sabina happened.” Bosley sounds resigned. “Bounced me off a wall as she charged to glory.”

Around them the extended team are gossiping quietly, watching the Saints avidly. Jane looks at Sabina lying senseless on the stretcher, in a neck brace. Her girlfriend’s face is very pale. Sabina’s lashes are so dark against that pale. Jane wishes she could see Sabina’s eyes; you can always tell so much from their expressiveness.

“But why…” Elena sounds confused and upset.

Elena is clinging to Jane’s hand with both of hers, now. Jane dimly realises Elena needs her support. Jane reaches out automatically, wrapping a comforting arm around her shorter girlfriend’s shoulders. Elena is shaking.

“C’mon, Angels,” Bosley sighs. “Let’s go sit in my office. I need a stiff drink.”

“Sabina?” asks Elena.

“She’ll be alright,” assures Bosley. “Saint will take good care of her. Multiple Saints.”

“Call us when she wakes up?” Jane asks their Saint.

He nods, eyes warm. Jane steers Elena out of the room, on the heels of their Bosley. Jane is thinking about what happened now that her thinking brain is starting to come back online. Sabina, ‘berserk’, really? But why? Had Jane done the right thing? A knockout punch could cause serious injury, potentially. But broken glass, on an uncontrolled impact at a full sprint … surely that would have been worse …

Jane feels Elena’s free arm come up to wrap tightly around her waist, and now Elena is steering Jane more than Jane is steering Elena. Jane sighs, drops her shoulders down from their hyper-alert position, and follows.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Elena and Jane are in Bosley’s office, sitting next to each other on the couch, thigh pressed to thigh. Bosley sits in the armchair across from them, nursing her Dirty Martini. Elena had watched in mild shock as Bosley had moved efficiently if a bit stiffly around her office, unearthing then mixing the cocktail’s ingredients. She knew Bosley liked drinking. She didn’t know … how much.

“Drink?” Bosley asks them. “It’s a day for it.” She curls her lips in what looks like a chagrined smile. “I’ve also got the ingredients for a Rusty Nail, if you fancy.”

“Sabina’s favourite,” says Jane, robotically.

“One of them,” Elena can’t help correcting.

“She has a lot of them.” Bosley outright grins. “But yes, I’m aware that’s near the top of her list. That’s why I have those ingredients.”

“Well, she can’t drink with a head injury,” says Jane, with very little expression.

Bosley arches an eyebrow and throws Jane a concerned and knowing look. Elena meets Bosley’s keen scrutiny next and finds herself tearing up.

“I’ll have a Rusty Nail,” Elena says weakly. “Since Bina can’t right now.” She nudges her too-stiff girlfriend. “You should too.” Jane shrugs:

“Alright.”

“Stage two of our mission is on pause,” decides Bosley, as she mixes their drinks. “In any case, it wouldn’t have involved Sabina. But I think you two need a bit of recovery time from today’s ordeal. Fortunately, this mission isn’t too time sensitive and can allow for that.”

“What do you mean about Sabina?” asks Elena, and she sees from Jane’s suddenly sharp gaze that her girlfriend’s wondering the same thing.

“She wasn’t cleared by Saint,” says Bosley pragmatically.

“And when did she find that out?” asks Jane, accent especially clipped. Bosley gives Jane a level look.

“I imagine right before she tried to jump through that window.” Bosley’s tone is just this shade of snide, yet affectionate.

Elena guesses it’s because Bosley has been working with Sabina a long time now, much longer than she’s been working with the three-of-them as a team. Sabina and Bosley have the kind of relationship where Bosley can be humorous or even scathing, and where Sabina can be rebellious and inappropriate. Elena can tell that they enjoy working together and playing off each other, even if they both pretend to some degree not to - that’s part of their unspoken game. This is a far cry from Bosley’s poorly hidden boredom with some of the more conservative Angels or quite a few of the other Bosleys’ rumoured preference to “not work with that little shit”, i.e., Sabina.

Jane gets on with Bosley 342 yet doesn’t seem that close with her … Elena doesn’t have much of a handle on the subtleties of Jane and Bosley’s relationship, at least as yet. Elena herself feels simultaneously nurtured and smothered by Bosley, is terribly grateful to her mentor, and doesn’t like working with other Bosleys (though doesn’t let that be known and sucks it up if she ever has to); their Bosley is best!

What Elena does know and feel, is that they all care about each other. The four of them form a team, though it’s an extended and different team dynamic to the three Angels. The same goes for Saint and the fivesome that they all make up together. Elena loves their team!

Bosley sinks back down in her armchair, passing over their drinks. Elena sips hers with relief. Bosley’s right: this is the perfect occasion for day drinking.

“Seems like overkill,” Jane finally comments after long minutes occupied with their drinks and thoughts.

“Something must have happened,” agrees Elena, blinking unsteadily. God, she’s feeling tipsy already! She doesn’t know if it’s the drink, the stress, or the combination. Maybe it’s seeing Sabina acting … well, crazy. Cray-cray-Crazy! Seeing Jane move like that, so fast, so forceful, and how she and Sabina collided then went limp … Elena hurriedly takes another swig. And on top of all that seeing Jane punch Sabina out, in cold blood …

“I was going to pair you two with Sakura Kobayashi, temporarily,” says Bosley, stirring her cocktail. Jane’s nose wrinkles:

“Sakura?”

“I like her,” says Elena, tipsily. Yeah, she’s tipsy, it’s confirmed.

“You like everyone.” Maybe Jane is tipsy too.

“No I don’t!” Elena rolls her eyes. “I don’t like Yolanda Riverson.”

“Bina’s latest mark?” Bosley looks amused, and after a couple cocktails is slurring her words just the tiniest bit. “Why ever not?” She raises her glass as though to give a toast. “What a gorgeous creature.”

“Stop it,” laughs Jane, snorting a little, which Elena finds adorable. “Stop teasing Lena!”

“I can take it,” grins Elena. “You don’t have to protect me, Janey. I’m a big girl.”

“No, no, you should protect her,” says Bosley, maternally. “Don’t forget she’s our team’s baby.”

“Yeah,” says Jane voice deepening with affection. “You’re the baby, Lena.”

“I am not!” Elena is aghast. Is that really how they see her? She is capable and empowered and an ass-kicking nerd of highly technical scientism! Not a baby …

Well … maybe she’s Sabina’s baby. Elena really likes it when Sabina calls her baby …

“Yeah you do!” Jane delivers this with a shit-eating grin. Oh my God, did Elena say that out loud – she is mortified.

Bosley has snorted her drink out, she’s laughing that hard.

“This is … inappropriate for the workplace!” says Elena, grasping at straws to redirect the situation.

Bosley is mopping at the front of her shirt now, attempting to prevent staining.

“Oh, everyone already knows you’re Sabina’s baby,” Bosley says matter-of-factly, though Elena can see the goading glint of humour in her blue eyes. “You three are a favourite source of gossip around Angels’ water coolers, everywhere.”

“What, at other HQs too?” wonders Jane, finishing off her drink, and crossing to Bosley’s desk to start making a replacement. Jane knows how to make Rusty Nails? Elena blinks. Well, Jane has been close with Sabina for quite a while now …

“Of course,” says Bosley. “What other polyamorous Angels’ team do we have to gossip about the private lives of?” It’s a rhetorical question.

“You’d think it’d be more common,” says Jane. “Want another, Lena?” Elena nods enthusiastically. Jane goes on:

“I mean there’s plenty of queer Angels.”

“Sure,” says Bosley, “and even the straight ones usually have an experimental … moment, at some point. I mean,” she gestures to nobody in particular. “We’re surrounded by beautiful, sexy, powerful women, all the time.” She fans herself, a little. “Anyone would question their sexuality.”

Jane laughs, plopping back down beside Elena with their replacement drinks:

“Sounds like you definitely questioned yours when you were an active Angel, Bos.”

Jane’s tipsy, realises Elena with amusement. To speak so humourously and openly with Bosley, is not like her recalcitrant girlfriend.

“I’m straight,” says Bosley, comfortably. “Er, mostly.” She makes a flip-flopping gesture. “Heteroflexible.”

“Oh, well so am I,” says Jane, starting on drink #2. Or is it #3? Elena isn’t sure. “Or well, I used to assume so. Before I met Sabina.” Jane rolls her eyes. “And that took … a while to come to terms with.”

That’s right, Elena remembers. Jane had crushed on Elena’s friend and co-worker, ‘handsome nerd’ Langston pretty hard, when Elena first met Jane and Sabina. Jane and Langston had enjoyed a short but sweet relationship together during the period when Elena had entered Angels’ training. Elena isn’t sure how it had ended but knows that Jane and Langston are still on good terms; Elena herself and Langston remain friends (the kind who geek out over science hard to the exclusion of any other topic).

In fact, Elena had assumed Jane was bisexual since she occasionally notices Jane noticing guys appreciatively. But it isn’t something they’ve talked about in any detail. Apparently, that requires day drinking with an inciting Bosley.

“And then I met Elena,” says Jane. “So, I couldn’t pretend Sabina was just some kind of anomaly.” She swigs her drink.

“But it still took you ages to do anything about it,” says Bosley. “We were all placing bets about when you’d get together, and who’d hook up with who.”

“Bos!” says Elena, scandalised. “I can’t believe you!”

Bosley snickers and moves to make herself another cocktail.

“What?” she says. “You three certainly kept lunchtimes exciting. Only one of us bet on a polyamorous triad as the final outcome. That bet was the outlier – Saint really cleaned up.”

“Saint?!” squeaks Elena. “Saint bet on us to go poly?”

“Yeah,” says Bosley. “There were quite a few bets on you all hooking up, from memory: y’know wild monkey threesomes. But pretty much only Saint saw an actual three-way relationship situation eventuating.”

Elena sinks down further into her chair, hot with how red she is. She can’t believe Angels’ HQ – no multiple Angels’ HQs – have been gossiping about them, all this time. And placing bets. Not to mention that Saint – their innocent-seeming Saint! – had called their triad successfully. He really is insightful …

“What did you bet on?” asks Jane, not seeming put out (more proof that Jane must be tipsy, Elena knows). Bosley gives Jane an inscrutable look.

“That’s need to know,” Bosley says. Then she cracks up laughing.

“Bos!” whines Elena. “You have to tell us!”

“Oh Lena, I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” says Bosley, and Elena thinks that Bosley might now be a little bit sloshed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, I bet on Sabina/Jane.” Jane smirks:

“Really?” Then Jane frowns. “But I thought I hid it so well…”

“Oh honey,” Bosley tells Jane, taking a long and loud slurp of her latest Dirty Martini. Elegance is out the window. “You hid nothing.”

Jane sulks. Elena can’t stop giggling. Jane is so funny when she sulks. It’s so unlike Jane – she normally hides her sulking, and pretty much everything else, pretty successfully. Jane must be drunk. It’s so funny. Everything is funny. Oh God, Elena must be drunk too …

“Why?” Elena asks suddenly, remembering what Bosley had just revealed. “Why Sabina/Jane?”

“Because they were all over each with the constant eye-fucking and bicker-baiting,” says Bosley. “It was like a really bad romantic comedy where they start out hating each other and end up fucking their brains out. On steroids.”

“Bollocks,” says Jane.

“Whereas you,” says Bosley to Elena, ignoring Jane. “Well, sure, Sabina flirted with you, constantly. It was really annoying to witness, yet somehow really cute.”

Elena blushes. Bosley continues:

“And you snuggled up to her like a sweet little bunny rabbit. But most of us thought you didn’t know what it meant. Like, you were too, er … innocent.”

“She means ‘oblivious’,” says Jane. “You seemed oblivious.”

“I’m not oblivious!” Elena protests, stumbling over the ‘bl’. “But Bina flirts with everything that moves.”

“True Story,” says Bosley, raising her glass appreciatively.

“So how was I supposed to know?” whines Elena, “that it meant something, with me?” She rolls her eyes, and huffs exasperatedly. “It drove me crazy, trying to figure it out.”

“It was different with you,” argues Jane, poking Elena in the side. “Like, softer, more sincere. And Sabina was even more awkward than usual. Like, sooo awkward.”

“So so awkward,” Bosley agrees. “Poor Sabina. It was hard to watch sometimes. Like a trainwreck. On steroids.”

“I knew she liked you,” reveals Jane. “It was obvious to me. But that made it harder to figure out what her deal was, with me.”

“I knew she liked you,” says Elena. “That was obvious to me.”

“And I liked you too,” says Jane. “So much, Lena. I had no idea what that meant…”

Elena gets all squishy inside. She loves it when Jane looks at her like this, with the kind of soft intensity that breaks through every Jane-mask …

“Nobody teaches polyamory,” Elena tells Jane gently. “Most of us don’t even know it’s an option.”

“Yeah,” says Bosley. “I mean, you read about it in crack fanfictions, but it’s rare to actually see…” she gestures at them appreciatively, “such a beautiful real-life example.” She raises her glass, yet again. “You girls are so cute together. I’m glad I was wrong.”

Elena smiles at Bosley and out of the corner of her eye she sees Jane blushing and smiling too.

“So you’re gay, Elena?” asks Bosley conversationally, suddenly (and drunkenly-inappropriately) changing the topic. Elena splutters into her drink.

“What?! Yes! Is it any of your business? …What?”

“I thought so,” says Bosley with an annoying little smile. “I’ve won that bet … I’m so going to enjoy rubbing it in Bosley 311's smug face…”

“What about Sabina?” Elena asks. It’s the first thing that pops into her head, and she says it because she needs to create a diversion. Urgently.

“Pansexual,” says Jane, like she’s saying the sky is blue. “Obviously.”

“Obviously,” agrees Bosley. “I mean, people don’t even bet about that. It’s a known fact.”

“What?” protests Elena. “Has anybody even asked her?”

“We don’t need to,” says Bosley. “I once saw her flirt with a statue.”

“I saw her flirt with the entire board of Neapolitan Corporation at the same time,” says Jane. “And they were all evil.”

“Well, I saw her flirt with Bosley 333’s cat,” returns their Bosley. “And the moment the cat left the room she was flirting with 333’s dog.”

Jane is laughing so uproariously she has trouble delivering her next line. Elena groggily realises that Jane and Bosley are having riposting-fun at Sabina’s expense … and maybe at Elena’s expense too.

“I once walked in on her and that bodyguard from Cherrybomb nightclub hooking up in the unisex bathroom, um, what was his name? Buck? The one with arms the size of my thighs.”

“Oh, very nice,” says Bosley appreciatively. “His arm sleeves were … distracting.”

“Sabina thought so too,” says Jane. “Her knickers drop for an arty tattoo.”

“Yeah, I remember her all over that tattooed mark, um whatwashername?” Bosley screws up her face, trying to remember. “That mission went south, fast. Like, literally south.” She snickers. “To Pussy Town.”

Elena turns bright red. She can’t believe Bosley just said that!

“Goth Girl?” says Jane. “That’s what Sabina called her. To her face, no less.”

“Goth Girl was into it,” smirks Bosley. “But God, that was so inappropriate. I got a reprimand. Angels are not supposed to sleep with their marks.” Bosley rolls her eyes and adds as an afterthought, “mostly.”

“When has that ever stopped our girl?” Jane is smirking too.

“She’s a hazard,” says Bosley with mock annoyance. “And she has the weirdest taste in people. Uh, no offence, ladies…”

“Just last week I overheard her on the phone abusing Jonny Smith,” reveals Jane, far too gone to take offence. “Frenemies forever.”

Elena finds Sabina’s weird on-and-off frenemy-ship with Jonny … really cute, actually. But totally weird, beyond all belief. Somehow, it’s had real legs, and the two-of-them occasionally phone or video chat (mostly Jonny flirting and Sabina smacking him down … which Elena can tell they both enjoy), as well as talking smack over social media.

“Sabina hooked up with Ece Kaplan a couple years back,” Bosley drunkenly confides, more serious now. “That Angel from Istanbul office, y’know, the one who wins all the archery competitions – she’s trans.”

“Don’t forget Ricky ‘the dodger’ from that Liverpool mission that went balls-up,” inserts Jane. “They’re non-binary.”

“Sabina might be genderqueer herself,” muses Bosley. “She certainly fucks gender up, without even trying.”

“Oh well,” says Jane pragmatically, finishing her drink. “If she is, I’m sure Bina will let us know at some point. Or not. I don’t think she notices stuff like that.”

Bosley lifts her glass yet again, conceding that likelihood. It sloshes everywhere, but Bosley doesn’t seem to notice.

“Bos,” says Elena, “you’re drunk.”

“No I’m not!” Bosley sounds mock-outraged. “What a thing to say to your superior officer.”

“It’s obvious.” Jane backs Elena up. “Maybe you should stop…”

“I’ll stop when I stop,” says Bolsey. Which confirms for Elena that Bosley is, indeed, shit-faced. Elena tosses Jane an inquiring glance, wondering if they should intervene. Jane grins and delivers a sloppy kiss to Elena’s cheek. Elena decides that Jane is shit-faced too: she probably won’t be much help with Bosley.

“I’m not oblivious,” Elena finds herself mumbling as she watches Bosley rise to make herself yet another drink, and Jane gets up to do the same. Okay, so maybe Elena’s drunk too. Maybe.

But she’s not oblivious!

Chapter Text

Saint’s POV

El Santo, real name Daniel Maduro Ramos* (tell no one!) is a little surprised when three members of his favourite team (made of five, including himself) burst through the door of the medical unit, unannounced.

First comes his close friend Rebekah Gold* aka Bosley 342, and he instantly knows she’s borracho.* He should do – they’ve gone for ‘recovery drinks’ often enough, after an especially tough or stressful mission. Saint blinks, surprised but unfazed: it takes a lot to agitate him. There’s a reason he’s received the unofficial commendation for ‘Most Saintly’ from Charlie more than any other Saint. Daniel excels at his job.

That’s part of the reason he’s been assigned primarily to this particular team, whom Charlie privately calls his ‘Flagship Angels’. Only the Saints and Bosleys know about that, because they’re almost unanimously of the opinion that it would be a source of unproductive jealousy to the other Angels, go to Sabina’s head, and freak the hell out of both Jane and Elena (though in different ways) – all of which would be good for no one.

Nonetheless, Charlie’s flagship team is often called on to handle missions that are ‘experimental’, to put it nicely. This means missions that are considered especially challenging, tricky or in rare incidences impossible-yet-necessary. Saint is very proud of his Angels: they are doing one hell of a job, under pressure that would crack most others. Saint is determined to do everything in his power to support them and keep their teamship developing along a winning trajectory. He knows Rebekah feels the same way.

Bosley 342 has been assigned to these Angels because Charlie feels it’s the best match possible. While she’s certainly skilled and capable, Saint knows (off the record, need to know) that Charlie feels Rebekah needs a little extra 'guidance’ from Saint (and Charlie themself*) due to her slightly wild card nature: she’s the only Angel-turned-Bosley, and there’s good reason for that. Sometimes nostalgia for her old job can interfere with the focus and parameters of being a good Bosley.

Yet at the same time, this Bosley understands what it takes to be an Angel in a way that none of the others do or can. This gives her empathy, nuance, and the ability to take an off-the-cuff approach that can veer all over the spectrum from hard-ass to soft-as-a-kitten, as needed. Such an approach is definitely needed with the wildest angel on the roster: Sabina Wilson. Quite a few of the Bosleys refuse to work with Sabina (off the record, need to know); Saint suspects it’s because they’re intimidated. What do you do when an Angel outright disobeys you, then somehow carries off the mission – because of that very disobedience – with her controlled chaos? It’s enough to make a Bosley feel unneeded.

Saint knows the truth though: Sabina needs a Bosley much more than most Angels do. She just needs a Bosley that can alternatingly play den mother, ‘don’t fuck with me, young lady’ headmistress, and friend-but-in-a-professional-way-yeah? That’s Bosley 342. Rebekah and Sabina just understand each other, on some key level that can’t be trained into other Bosleys.

This allows the Townsend Agency to leverage Sabina’s unique skillset, successfully. Say what you will about Sabina’s chaotic nature, she plays a niche role that the Angels need on their books. Saint knows that Charlie considers Sabina the very best of all their grifters. Charlie also considers Sabina’s admittedly-unpredictable (and need to know) ‘berserking’ capacity to potentially be the secret spice needed for the Agency’s occasional ‘maybe it’s impossible’ missions. Now if only they could discover how to trigger it … on command … safely ...

When it comes to Jane Kano, Bosley 342 is exactly the calming-supportive, polished professional, yet wryly amused influence that Jane needs to excel. Jane is debatably the Townsend Agency’s best brawler, and her weapons’ knowledge is second to none. Jane’s uncanny ability to learn an opponent’s fighting moves and turn the tables on them, is invaluable. Join that with Jane’s capacity to buckle down under the kind of pressure that breaks the average Angel and come back better, and her tactical brilliance on the field: Jane is one, what does Sabina call it? Oh yes, ‘Bad Ass Mother Fucker’. A huevo!*

Jane was originally paired (primarily) with Bosley real-name-Edgar-Dessange, who served as her mentor, and they had been an excellent match. After Edgar was killed on-mission, Rebekah had been assigned to help Jane and Sabina carry out the rest of that mission, Elena in tow. This was when Charlie had noticed how well Jane responded to Rebekah’s subtle warmth and Angel background; Saint rather thought that Jane respected Rebekah more than the other Bosleys because she’d been an Angel. Rebekah used that respect to get the best out of Jane, making space for Jane’s strategic talents (where a lesser Bosley might have insisted on being the only strategist), and using such a light touch to warm up Jane’s coolness when it was getting a bit disquieting (and indicative of distress), that Jane didn’t (overly) resist the (well-intentioned) manipulation.

With Elena Houghlin, Saint had seen Rebekah’s mothering side come out full force – which he secretly found heart-warming. Elena might be a little annoyed by it at times, but Saint could also tell that she thrived under such conditions. Elena had entered the Angels with great uncertainty, mostly revolving around self-doubt that she would have what it takes. Saint understood: who wouldn’t feel insecure when they compared themselves to Jane and Sabina? More than Saint’s supportive therapy sessions, more than Sabina’s flirtatious teasing, more than Jane’s unexpected gentleness, Saint perceived it was actually Bosley’s blend of nurturance and slightly stifling protectiveness that had helped Elena and continued to do so.

Saint knew that Elena’s relationship with her own mother was sorely lacking. Bosley’s mentoring filled an unadmitted-to yearning, and Elena was soft-natured enough to lap it up gratefully. Sabina, who was also down a ‘good mother’ figure was too prickly to accept that level of vulnerability. So Bosley only used that approach with Elena: intuitively she knew just what to give each Angel, to bring out their best. Thanks in no small part to Bosley’s support and mentoring, Elena was now a fully-fledged member of Charlie’s Flagship Angels, adding the necessary tech expertise to round them out into a whole. Elena wasn’t just technically brilliant, she was scientifically creative: a real find. It was the exact combination of all three Angels’ talents that made their teamship … how would Sabina put it? Pop!

Saint stops his musings as Jane stumbles in, hot on Bosley’s high heels … possibly even more drunk than Bosley. Elena follows close behind, singing what sounds like a jaunty pop song loudly and off-key:

“Oh, baby, baby, have you seen Amy tonight?
Is she in the bathroom, is she smoking up outside? Oh!
Oh, baby, baby, does she take a piece of lime
for the drink that I'ma buy her?
Do you know just what she likes? Oh!”*

Saint blinks. Okaaaaaay. That is a bit much, even for his 100 points in ‘calm’.

“Lena, baby,” whispers Jane, loudly. “You’re freaking out Saint.”

“Chill,” says Bosley, chill-ly. She swaggers over to the nearest visitor’s chair and drops down ungracefully. “Saint has seen it all before.”

“Welll,” says Saint diplomatically. “This might be new.”

Jane and Sabina also drop into visitors’ chairs. Saint watches as Jane’s head cranes about: she is studying the path of a fly that’s somehow got in, with mission-level focus. Elena is still singing under her breath, and Saint makes a note to himself to never attend karaoke with his Angels. Specifically, Elena Houghlin.

“How is she?” asks Bosley, nodding at Sabina who lies on the bed, dead to the world. “Heavily medicated?”

“We’re heavily medicated,” chortles Elena. Then to Jane whose thigh she squeezes: “honey, stop stalking that fly. It’s harmless.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jane mutters suspiciously.

Saint barely holds himself back from rolling his eyes: saintly-level control.

“Sabina will be fine,” Saint reports. “We did a CT scan to rule out undue injury. But she needs to rest.” He frowns a little at Jane. “She has a lot of bruising on her side, especially her hip. I assume that’s where you tackled her?”

“Bad angle,” agrees Jane morosely. Totally without modesty she lifts her light sweater and reveals her toned stomach. Saint leans in professionally and scans the bruising.

“Hard hit,” he assesses.

“Very hard,” agrees Jane. She sits still as Saint probes the area carefully. Then he retrieves a bag of ice from the corner fridge, and a protective cover for it, and hands these to Jane with a meaningful look. Jane obligingly holds the icepack to her injury, pulling her sweater back down first.

“Let me know if there isn’t noticeable improvement after a few days,” Saint instructs paternally. Elena pats Jane’s thigh caringly.

“When will Sabina wake up?” wonders Bosley.

“She already has,” comforts Saint, detecting Bosley’s unspoken worry. “She’s just sleeping now.”

“Exactly what happened?” asked Bosley, and drunk or not Saint can tell she’s that strange mix of annoyed and protective that Sabina seems to commonly bring out in people she’s close to.

Saint takes a chair across from his visitors. He positions it on the opposite side of Sabina’s bed (meaning the bed is between himself and Sabina’s visitors) so that he can keep one eye on his latest patient.

“It wasn’t really her fault,” Saint sighs, wondering if he should wait until his team has sobered up. “Drink some water,” he tells Jane and Elena gesturing towards the room’s water cooler. “That’s an order.” He turns to Bosley with a raised eyebrow. “You too.”

“Do you always wear so much jewellery?” Jane asks Saint, eyeing his collection of bangles and bracelets dubiously as she crosses to the water cooler. Oh yes, Jane is very drunk indeed. Saint presses his lips together so that they won’t form an unsaintly smirk.

“One has to accessorise appropriately,” Saint tells Jane. “For optimal wellbeing of body, mind and soul.” He folds his hands in the traditional namaste gesture. Bosley smirks at Saint without shame as she accepts the glass of water that he hands her. He grins back.

“So Sabina…” Saint continues, once his team have all drunk at least two glasses of filtered water. He’d like them to drink more, and possibly to eat something, but … baby steps. “Her therapy session was going wonderfully. I can’t tell you what the content was – therapist/patient confidentiality, you know that. But we were making key progress that is necessary for her healing.”

“That’s good,” says Bosley. “So … what the hell happened? How does ‘key progress’ end up with Sabina knocking me into a wall?”

“Are you alright?” Saint is at Bosley’s side in a trice. He is annoyed, concerned, protective. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I was busy,” grumps Bosley.

“Day drinking,” says Jane and laughs uproariously.  Elena joins in and they practically fall off their chairs, they’re laughing so hard.

“Exactly,” says Bosley. She holds her arms up in the air like a child getting dressed by their parent, indicating that Saint should start checking her over. He does so, rolling his eyes freely. “Did you want a cocktail?” Bosley asks him, as an afterthought.

“No thank you,” Saint says primly, a not-so-hidden reprimand in his tone. “It’s broad daylight.”

“The situation called for it,” argues Jane. “Bosley said so.”

“Bos said so,” echoes Elena, like that’s going to convince him.

“I said so,” agrees Bosley, and Saint can’t help chuckling. His team. His Angels and Bosley, what should he do with them? They are worse than each other! They’re lucky he is there to patch them up as needed and encourage them (often fruitlessly) to drink green smoothies.

“Well,” Saint says, as he gently checks Bosley’s facial and shoulder bruising, “I can reveal that we ended up talking about Mandy Rainer.” He makes an empathic face.

“Oh,” says Bosley. She matches Saint’s expression.

“Oh…” Elena.

Silence from Jane who Saint glances enquiringly at. Jane’s face is a frozen storm. He wonders for a moment if she’s really as mission ready as her tests have indicated.

“And?” prompts Bosley.

“And Sabina…” Saint thinks about how to put it diplomatically.

“Flipped out?” guesses Elena sadly.

“Yes,” says Saint. “Some kind of panic attack flashback I suspect … or something in that family. The flight path of the Fight/Flight/Freeze response.”

“Will she be alright?” asks Elena, gazing at Sabina with wide eyes.

“I hope so,” says Saint, honestly and feelingly.

He finishes checking Bosley’s injuries and goes to retrieve her an ice pack too, reassuring her that she’ll be okay and advising recovery time and healing measures. Saint suspects from Bosley’s ironic remarks about this incident that she’s more disturbed than she’s letting on: Saint knows her well. It must have been a bit scary and perhaps emotionally upsetting to have her Angel (essentially) attack her, out of the blue. Saint makes a note to himself to schedule a therapy session with Bosley when she isn’t drunk: she’ll just refuse if he suggests it now.

He returns to his chair by Sabina’s bed.

“What can we…” Elena cuts herself off. Sabina’s eyelids are fluttering. Saint leans over her, watching her carefully.

Sabina’s eyes open. She blinks once, twice, then looks about groggily.

“What hit me?” Sabina had said this same line when she woke up earlier. Saint frowns a little.

“My fist,” Jane’s voice is that robotic tone that always puts Saint on high alert. He looks at Jane keenly.

“Wow,” says Sabina. “What did I do?” She’s jokey, and Saint knows this means that she doesn’t remember what happened, at least not properly. He very much doubts she’d joke right now with Jane, if she did.

“You tell us,” says Bosley, slurring just a little. Sabina’s eyes snap to her, shocked.

“Bos? You’re … trashed?” Sabina grins, slow and wide. “Oh my God. I knew you had it in you.”

“Not just her,” says Saint resignedly. He gestures at Jane and Elena and Sabina grins over at them.

“What?! Aw, my wild-ass wifeys! Why’d you start the party without me?”

“You started the party,” says Jane, sounding accusing. “When you caused a commotion running about like a chicken with its head cut off.”

“What?” asks Sabina, looking confused.

She looks to Elena for help; Saint’s keen eye has noticed that this is a regular pattern in their three-way dynamic. Jane gets mad with Sabina, and Sabina looks to Elena for assistance. Elena mediates. Jane calms down. Sabina and Jane get affectionate or more often, sexually charged. Elena enjoys, and maybe even joins the flirting or kissing or whatever-it-is. Saint and Bosley feel both amused and annoyed and make themselves scarce if that’s at all possible. If not, their Angels are hell to be around. Hell.

Those are usually days when he and Bosley end up going for drinks after work.

Elena is no help on this particular occasion. She has gone back to singing that irritating pop song, now at medium-loudness:

“Love me, hate me, say what you want about me
But all of the boys and all of the girls are begging to, if you seek Amy”

Sabina grins big:

“‘F. u. c. k. me’, babe. Not ‘if you seek Amy’. It’s a pun.”

“What!” Elena looks mortified. “It is not.” Sabina smirks bigger:

“It so is. That’s the whole point of that song.”

“Nope,” Elena puts her fingers in her ears, and even Saint has to admit it’s cute. “You’re just overly sexualised. You see sex, everywhere.”

“You do,” bites Jane.

“Jane,” Sabina tries, sounding a bit desperate to Saint’s trained ears. “You know I’m right. I know you’re a closet Britney fan.”

“I am not!” says Jane. A lie, they all know it.

“Saint?” Sabina looks to him for help next. “Get me up to speed?”

“You went AWOL.” Saint determines that it’s best to rip the band-aid off, fast and clean. “During our therapy session. We were making such good progress too…” He shakes his head ruefully.

“Oh!” says Sabina. “Uh, my bad.”

She shoots a furtive look at Jane, no doubt checking if her girlfriend is mad at her. Saint knows Sabina can get preoccupied about conflict with either of her girlfriends. It sets off her fearful avoidant attachment style*, understandably. Saint just hopes the day never arises when they’re both mad with her at the same time. He doesn’t know how Sabina would handle it; he imagines not well.

Saint wonders if he should bring up Mandy, to help Sabina remember what happened. On one hand, now’s the time to do so. Perhaps it could be helpful and keep Sabina making forward progress in processing her friend’s death. On the other hand, bringing up Mandy is what caused all this. Maybe Sabina will lose herself again, and now’s really not the time, what with her recently injured and most of the team inebriated. Saint has to make a line call …

“Because of Mandy!” pipes up Elena, and Saint wants to facepalm. His hand aches with his desire to facepalm. He holds himself back with heroic self-control.

Sabina freezes, and the rest of them all freeze too. Then Sabina blinks, slowly. Her teeth worry aggressively at her bottom lip. Saint worries that she might bite through it and puts a reassuring yet restraining hand on her arm. Sabina looks at him, and he sees that her expressive eyes are cloudy with pain.

“It’s okay,” Saint tells her, oh so gently. “It will be okay.”

Sabina nods. Her eyes fill with tears.

“Bina!” Elena is hopping up onto the bed, heedless of protocol and snuggling into Sabina’s side. “Oh sweetie.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” mutters Sabina, but she turns and burrows her body into Elena all the same, who holds and pets her. Saint takes this as a very good sign. Thank God for drunk-Elena. He looks over at Bosley approvingly: maybe day drinking was the right strategy, after all.

Bosley smiles at him knowingly. Saint suddenly suspects she’s less drunk than she’s been seeming. Why, that crafty fox …

Jane has her arms crossed defensively where she slouches in her chair. Bosley approaches Jane and sits in Elena’s vacant chair.

“Jane,” Bosley says so softly that Saint has trouble hearing her. “I think you need a hug.”

Jane glares at her. Bosley ignores this in favour of reaching across and pulling Jane to her chest where she holds her firmly, even motheringly. Saint watches with wonder as Jane’s stiff body language gradually gives way to melting-into-Bosley. He smiles appreciatively at Bosley over Jane’s shoulder. God, she’s good at her job. Bosley winks at him.

Saint turns back to the two Angels snuggling on the bed and can’t help but smile at them too. What’s a Saint to do?

Chapter Text

Bosley’s POV

It’s one month later. Seated in Bosley’s office, her three Angels watch her expectantly. Their latest mission’s stage two is finally ‘go’, and it’s time for their official briefing. Sabina has only just been cleared as mission ready by Saint. Bosley takes this to mean that Sabina is finally processing her friend Mandy Rainer’s tragic death at Sabina’s own hands, productively.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Saint had told Bosley earlier, as they did their pre-mission briefing together, just the two-of-them. “Sabina’s far from recovered. But I’m satisfied that she’s far enough along that she won’t glitch out. And you know the … difficult truth about our flagship team…”

“…A certain trauma load is to be expected.” Bosley had sighed, a bit guiltily. It was the nature of the flagship team’s especially dangerous work, and the risks had been explained to the Angels in training, then again when their team-of-three was formed. “Still.” Bosley had rested her hand on Saint’s shoulder, and it was as much to comfort herself as it was to reassure him. “It can be … so hard to see them hurting.”

“I know, Bekah.” Saint’s voice was soft. Bosley deeply appreciated the bond of friendship they shared, and that she didn’t have to do her job alone. Oh, she had Charlie, and the other Bosleys of course. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as taking care of a team, together.

“Besides,” Bosley sighed again. “We can’t afford to wait any longer; timing’s now becoming an issue on this one. I wish Jane could have a bit more time off too.”

“Agreed,” Saint’s dark eyes flashed as he sat down gracefully in an armchair. They were in his therapy room, though they weren’t doing therapy officially. Saint was briefing Bosley on what she needed to know about the team’s health and wellbeing before she briefed their Angels on the mission, standard procedure.

At the same time, Saint was advising Bosley – she often relied on him in an advisory role. Bosley rather suspected Saint of engaging in unofficial therapy sessions with her, whenever he could smuggle them into the schedule. She didn’t begrudge him: she knew she wiggled out of her designated sessions more often than she should. Saint was just doing his job. Bosley was just making it harder … then making up for it by pretending not to notice what he was up to.

“You’re sure Jane is cleared?” Bosley checked, for the third time that week. Saint didn’t look annoyed; he shared Bosley’s concern.

“Definitely officially-speaking. Jane’s passed all our tests with flying colours, multiple times. But,” Saint shrugged expressively. “You know Jane.”

“Yes,” Bosley’s voice was a little exasperated. “She eats tests for breakfast.”

“Yes,” agreed Saint. “Testing doesn’t tell us the truth about her inner state. I’m not sure how to get around it, Bos, or even if we need to. After all … she’s only better under pressure.”

“But for how long?” wondered Bosley and she could see in the wry quirk of her friend’s lips, that Saint knew just what she meant.

Now, in her office with the Angels waiting on her expectantly, Bosley feels a familiar surge of affection. They are all so keen to get out in the field again and enact their latest mission. Bosley understands this; anticipation thrums through her too. It’s such a buzz.

“So it’s back to the nightclub,” Bosley tells her Angels brusquely. “Sabina, you’ll reengage with Yolanda.”

“Yes!” Sabina fist pumps.

Jane rolls her eyes and Elena chews her lip apprehensively.

“We’ve ascertained that the dirty drugs are sold in the back alley,” Bosley goes on. “A couple times a week, a buyer picks up a load at midnight. A large load. Yakov’s henchmen don’t sell the drugs to clubbers; Fly High is just a cover for his criminal business dealings.”

“Aren’t our missions usually a little more … important than this?” asks Jane, with an expression on her face like she just tasted something nasty.

Bosley covers a snigger behind one hand, pretending to yawn. Jane is right on the money, as usual.

“Well, yes,” Bosley admits calmly once she’s gotten herself under control.

“Are you going easy on us?” wonders Sabina. “Like how you told me Yolanda is a…” she makes quote marks with her fingers, “‘serious threat’?”

“That was a necessary subterfuge,” Bosley protests mildly, enjoying popping her mouth around the consonants in ‘subterfuge’. Engaging in spy-talk is half the fun of this job. “You were still recovering from…”

“…#MissionDisaster,” the three angels chant, in sync. Bosley arches a brow at them:

“Exactly.” Bosley turns to Sabina. “You’ve been cleared now, as you’re well aware.” For some strange Sabina-reason, this makes Sabina puff out her chest with pride. Bosley glances at Jane then, thinking about her earlier conversation with Saint about Jane’s mission readiness.

Jane is sitting straight-backed in her chair, looking as calm and professional as only Jane can. Bosley’s eyes narrow. God, Kano is hard to read. It annoys Bosley at times and induces her admiration at others.

“I’m not going easy on you,” Bosley tells her Angels. “These drugs are a lot more dangerous than you realise. They’re rumoured – from reliable sources – to have the ability to unlock a person’s … latent abilities and unleash them, without regard to consequences.”

“What, like superpowers?” Elena’s eyes are wide and gleaming. Bosley recognises that Elena is slipping into scientist mode.

“Well, maybe, maybe not.” Bosley shrugs expressively. “The jury is out. Superpowers seems implausible to me. It’s likely an exaggeration for what is probably just enhanced strength and speed, maybe something like Flakka or even Testosterone. Then again,” Bosley rolls her eyes. “One word…”

With a shit-eating grin Sabina beats her to the punch:

“Vaporiser.”

Bosley nods wryly:

“Exactly.”

“Enhanced strength and/or speed may be a side-effect,” catalogues Jane, focusing on what’s important, as is to be expected. “What else?”

“Let’s see,” Bosley consults her notes. “Rage. Extreme violence. Agitation, confusion, convulsions. Enhanced eyesight and hearing. Paranoid delusions. Complications can sometimes result in death. Vastly increased … libido? That can’t be right…”

“Wow,” says Sabina, eyes wide. “Folks be turning into werewolves.”

Bosley can’t help herself. She laughs appreciatively. What? It’s funny.

“One drug can do all that?” says Elena dreamily. “Fascinating.”

“Totes, cutie pie,” says Sabina, grinning at her girlfriend adoringly. Bosley feels slightly nauseous which is not uncommon for her around these three: they can be so sickly sweet with each other. Sometimes it’s just too much for an innocent outside party who wants to keep her breakfast down.

“Allegedly, one drug can do all that,” says Jane, refocusing the conversation. Bosley breathes a sigh of relief. Thank God for Jane.

“Exactly,” Bosley says. “That’s what the Agency will determine in an Angels’ lab. But first we need to retrieve the latest shipment. Tonight.”

“So why am I distracting Yolanda?” wonders Sabina. “I mean, not that I’m opposed – definitely not opposed – but isn’t the real action in the alleyway?”

“Yolanda is a bit of an unknown quantity,” admits Bosley. “Yes, our first intel said she wasn’t much of a threat. But now … we’re not so sure. Her and Yakov have an … extremely unusual relationship.”

“They’re furries?” guesses Sabina, “hopped up on werewolf drugs?” Bosley cuts off a snort, but only just.

“No,” Bosley takes a moment to smirk it out, before pressing on. “Well … probably not. But we don’t think they’re as estranged as they make out. And we’re not sure of the reason for that particular farce. What we do know, thanks to updated intel, is that they’re co-owners of the club and co-bosses of all criminal business dealings.”

“A powerful woman,” says Sabina, nodding appreciatively. Bosley rolls her eyes.

“Focus, Sabina.” Bosley glances to her other agents. “Elena, you’re on point to make the grab. They’re less likely to suspect you of an ulterior motive, than Jane. You can pull off the ‘I’m a little girl lost in a dark alleyway’ routine.”

Elena nods eagerly. Sabina and Jane frown in tandem, and Bosley recognises their trademark protective-looks affixing on their girlfriend. She hurries on before they can get too distracted:

“Jane, as soon as Elena has the target in her possession, you’ll neutralise any guards. Any that you two haven’t already neutralised that is, which you’ll do before the drop goes down.”

Jane nods firmly, jaw clenching in determination.

“Elena, you get to the getaway vehicle as fast as possible,” instructs Bosley. “I’m driving – I’ll be in the carpark in the same blue Jaguar XF you three used last time.”

“Do you think this drug might be a cathinone?” wonders Elena. She is tracing some kind of formula in the air with her tongue sticking out just so. They all stare at her. Bosley shakes her head in resignation:

“Elena!”

Elena eyes snap to Bosley’s, startled.

“Kitten,” whisper-prompts Sabina loudly, “you’re geeking out in public.” Bosley ignores Sabina and addresses Elena.

“Did you hear what I said about getting to the getaway vehicle as fast as possible? I’ll be driving the same Jaguar XF, waiting in the club’s carpark.”

Elena nods extra hurriedly. She looks like a nodding head toy: the kind you affix to a car’s dashboard. Maybe a … kitten. Bosley just knows that this is the first time Elena has registered this info.

“You’re running the mission from the sportscar?” checks Jane. She sounds surprised.

“Yes, for good reasons that I won’t get into just now,” says Bosley. “As soon as you’ve dealt with any pursuit, Jane, you join us. Sabina, I want you to do the same: we won’t have much margin. That means you might have to blow your cover with Yolanda.”

“Roger that,” says Sabina, serious for once.

“Leading up to the drop,” Bosley continues, addressing Sabina, “you gather whatever intel you can from Yolanda, and keep her out of the game. I have a hunch she’s much more dangerous than she seems, and we’re missing something key. You find out what. But … be careful.”

“Will do,” says Sabina. “Careful is my middle name.”

Jane scoffs visibly.

“Carefree?” jokes Sabina poking her girlfriend in the knee. “Caring? Care-bear?”

“Careless,” mutters Jane, but a small smile has escaped.

“That’s fair,” says Sabina.

Bosley smirks. She eyes her Angels approvingly. If you judged by outward appearances, Sabina is a hot mess, Jane is a cold bitch and Elena is a harmless bundle of geekery.

Bosley knows different: they’re her crack team; the Angels’ flagship team.

She’s so proud.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

“I haven’t seen you around, Briar,” says Yolanda Riverson where she and Sabina nestle at a secluded table. They are seated in the VIP section of Fly High - upstairs, overlooking the balcony and the pumping dancefloor down below. Yolanda pouts prettily.

Sabina eyes Yolanda appreciatively. Yup, just as gorgeous as Sabina remembers. That combination of auburn hair with ivory skin, and her whole experienced, wealthy older woman vibe - something like: “I have seen all the world there is to see … now let me show it unto you.” Sabina so wants to be shown. A waiter deposits a tray of drinks in front of them, some kind of cocktail for Yolanda plus a collection of unidentified shots. Sabina watches intently as Yolanda’s lip-sticked lips slide down the cocktail’s straw like it’s … something else. Yolanda’s pale green eyes half close in ecstasy …

Yolanda seems more confident, and much more seductive than Sabina remembers from their first meeting (not that Sabina’s complaining; she’s into it!). Wasn’t that Yolanda Riverson, a bit inexperienced seeming? Sabina had read the mark as a rich, unhappy middle-aged housewife in desperate need of a lesbian awakening (aren’t they all). Just now Yolanda seems more like she wants to awaken ‘Briar’. Sabina doesn’t know how to interpret the change.

So … Sabina downs a shot. When in doubt! For some strange reason this makes Yolanda grin at Sabina almost wolfishly. Whoa. Sabina considers taking a second shot …

There’s radio silence from Bosley and her girls. This is deliberate: Sabina knows Bosley can hear her, but Bosley’s got their comms on the setting where Sabina can’t hear Jane and Elena, nor vice versa. This way the Angels can focus on their respective mission objectives, and Bosley will inform them of anything that’s need-to-know. It’s better to do things this way sometimes, when the stakes are high, or the mission calls for particular focus. Besides, with the flick of a switch Bosley can put them all in verbal touch with each other again, if that should be needed.

“You didn’t call,” whine-purrs Yolanda, a bit Marilyn-Monroe-esque in her delivery. Sabina sighs appreciatively. She really digs Marilyn. Who doesn’t? Besides Sabina knows this game: it’s a great game.

“Sorry, beautiful,” Sabina purrs back, making her voice gravellier. “I lost your number. Washed it off without thinking; too drunk, y’know? And then I was kicking myself, because I really wanted to call…”

Yolanda giggles.

“Sure you did,” she pout-teases. “That’s why you haven’t been back in over a month.”

“I’ve been busy,” mock-protests Sabina, and she makes sure to check out Marilyn’s (no wait, Yolanda’s) cleavage in her banging white minidress, as obviously as possible. Like Sabina just can’t hold herself back from looking. Never mind that Sabina wants to look. Never mind that Yolanda wants her to look. This is how this game goes: Sabina could run it in her sleep.

“Doing what?” asks Yolanda, after a suitable pause to allow time for leering. Yolanda likes being leered at: it’s a good sign … Sabina mentally congratulates herself.

“Oh, this and that,” says Sabina vaguely. “I’m a consultant. Boring shit, you wouldn’t want to hear about it.”

“Yes I would,” says Yolanda, placing one well-manicured hand on Sabina’s arm in a coquettish gesture. As a master grifter, Sabina notices everything: Yolanda’s polished bloodred nails, the tattoo of a tiny number 6 nestled between her second and third fingers on her right hand. Yolanda’s left hand resting on the table, with slightly paler skin where a wedding ring used to sit …

“No you wouldn’t,” laughs Sabina. “Trust me, babe. I want to impress you. Not put you to sleep.”

“You could never,” husks Yolanda. She trails her hand down Sabina’s arm. Good seductive technique, Sabina thinks to herself, shivering despite herself. Yolanda’s done this before, a lot, Sabina can totally tell. With women too, not a doubt in Sabina’s mind …

Yolanda Riverson is no naive and eager late-bloomer: that had been some kind of act. Yolanda’s clearly pumping Sabina for information! Using sex-appeal! How dare she. Sexy beast.

“Have another shot, baby,” Yolanda suggests. “Here, I’ll feed it to you.”

Sabina eyes Yolanda and the proffered shot, torn between professionally appreciating Yolanda’s moves, being turned on, and not liking this role-reversal one bit. Sabina has to up her game; there’s no choice at this point. It’s go big or go home! Sabina just hopes Bosley will understand …

“Okay, okay, you caught me,” Sabina makes a placating gesture and ignores the shot (with some difficulty, because hey, it’s a free drink … not to mention its mode-of-delivery). “I’m not a … consultant.”

Yolanda sets the shot down. Her body tenses infinitesimally. Outwardly she’s calm, smiling prettily. But Sabina is a master grifter. She easily sees the sharpness that enters Yolanda’s gaze, and how said gaze scans Sabina’s body, in a way that can be passed off as checking Sabina out - but is really about locating hidden weapons.

“What are you then?” Yolanda asks, still sounding coquettish. Her eyes linger at the top of Sabina’s thighs which is (unfortunately) where Sabina has a concealed carry pistol strapped to a custom-made garter, her trusty Wilson Combat SFX9 (yes, she’s totally into its name). The weapon is only just hidden by the short yet flouncy skirt of Sabina’s tan coloured two-piece dress. She’d bet good money that Yolanda isn’t admiring her legs … she’s (somehow) spotted the pistol …

Yolanda’s good, thinks Sabina with a sinking feeling … and a thrill of adrenaline, straight to her crotch. Missions sometimes have this effect on Sabina. Oh, who is she kidding. Missions almost always have this effect on her!

“Let’s talk about you,” Sabina suggests, trying one last time to turn the tables. She knows she’s made, but she doesn’t have to let Yolanda know that she knows. “What I do is too … unspeakable.”

“I do unspeakable things too.” Yolanda’s voice is dripping with innuendo, which is only what Sabina would expect with that excellent opener she provided. “I’d like to do them with you.”

Bold, appreciates Sabina, if only in her internal dialogue. Her pussy twinges pleasantly.

“Are you sure you won’t have another shot?” asks Yolanda. “And then we can go back to my place; it’s just around the corner.”

Wow, a fast mover. Sabina blinks slowly. She has just noticed … something. What is it? Oh yeah, she’s feeling a bit sluggish. It started earlier, but Sabina’s only just catching on; that must be how this drug works, whatever it is. Sabina looks at the shot that Yolanda is attempting to hold up to Sabina’s lips, passing the move off as a seductive drinking game. Fuckity fuck! The dirty drug must have been in that first shot. To think that Yolanda didn’t even have to trick Sabina into taking that one! Oh, but Sabina is fucked. Or … is she?

Time to pull the old ‘reverse the rival grifter’s routine’, move. That is, if Sabina can manage to stay sharp-witted enough. Before she falls flat on her face. First to alert Bosley:

“You drink first.” Sabina giggles flirtatiously at her mark. “I’ll match you, shot for shot.”

“I’m more of a cocktail girl,” says Yolanda, signalling the VIP area’s waiter. He hurries over with a Negroni at the ready. Ooh, Sabina thinks crankily, you planned that one. She’s admiring Yolanda more and more, as key seconds tick by …

“Not fair, baby,” husks Sabina, turning jokey-flirtatious. “Maybe you slipped something in my drink.” There, that ought to alert Bosley. Obvious much? However, Sabina’s now having a bit of trouble thinking clearly, so this flimsy talk-in-code attempt will have to do … hopefully Yolanda won’t catch on …

“Why would I do that? Just because you’re a … gorgeous woman…” Yolanda sticks to role, but Sabina suspects that this won’t be the case for much longer. This is fast turning into a game of ‘chicken’: who will break first? Yolanda goes on: “…who I’d very much like to take home, doesn’t mean I need to drug you.” Yolanda smirks and there’s a cruel edge to it now, that was hidden previously. Yolanda gestures to herself flauntingly, “I mean, just look at me.”

“I’m looking,” says Sabina, trying very hard not to slur. She’s unsure if she’s succeeded.

“Sabina,” Bosley’s voice over comms is firm and serious. “You think you’ve been drugged?”

“Yeah,” says Sabina. “Pretty sure.” She winks at Yolanda who now looks a little confused. “Pretty sure you don’t need to drug anybody,” flirts Sabina, going for the clumsy save. Will it be enough?

“Drink the shot,” says Yolanda, and her voice is ice. Oops! thinks Sabina. Game over, man, Gave Over!*

“No way,” says Sabina leaning away from her mark, giving up the pretence as well. “Why would I voluntarily drug myself? Er … more?”

“Because it’s better than the alternative.” Yolanda smiles coldly and under the table Sabina feels something sharp digging into her thigh, right about where her gun is hidden. Sabina glances down … and is unsurprised to see a knife. There are a few beads of blood already staining through her skirt. She is surprised that she doesn’t feel any pain …

“Whoa, baby,” Sabina jokes, “is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?” There, that should appraise Bosley of what’s going on. Bosley doesn’t have eyes on them for this job: she needs the play by play. Yolanda barks a laugh.

“Both. You’re very good at this game, I’ll give you that much, Angel.” She licks her lipstick. “Delightfully sexy too.”

“You know who I am?” asks Sabina slowly. Maybe she was made before this date ever got started … if that’s the case, then her girls are in danger for sure.

“Drink the shot,” orders Yolanda. The knife digs in more. Sabina watches as Yolanda slices through her garter, and her Wilson Combat SFX9 falls uselessly under the table. Hey! That’s an expensive pistol! Never mind that Sabina doesn’t foot the bill …. Yolanda is moving her knife over a little, so that its tip is now resting against Sabina’s crotch.

“Kinky,” says Sabina. It is.

“I knew you’d be into it,” purrs Yolanda. Oh, are they flirting still? Is the game on or off? Sabina blinks a couple times, and huffs a few breaths, trying to clear her head.

“What’s in the shot?” Sabina stalls for time. Surely Bosley is sending backup. Surely.

“Why?” teases Yolanda. “You seem like the kind of girl who’d be into all sorts of highs.”

“Guilty as charged.” Sabina leans into the knife blade a little. She sees Yolanda’s eyes widen in surprise; the woman clearly wasn’t expecting that move. “You do too,” challenge-flirts Sabina, curious to see if she’s felt her mark out rightly. Yolanda’s breath hitches a little and Sabina feels a thrum of satisfaction. She has, but oh she has …

“Put down your weapon.” Jane’s voice cracks like a pistol-whip, though she speaks quietly enough that she can’t be heard by anyone but them; the club is raucous. Jane is looming over their table and absolutely rocking her black negligee (whoops dress, it’s a dress, Sabina’s bad) paired with stiletto ankle boots. Jane has a matching purse which she is holding in such a way that a gun is clearly indicated - hidden in the bag and pointed in the direction of Yolanda’s head.

Yolanda’s eyes widen then turn calculating. Her knife stays in position. Sabina isn’t at her smartest just now, but she’s certainly at her most turned on. This is like something out of her erotic fantasies. Girl on girl on girl. Double Domming! Sabina is in distress. Is that bad? Yeah, it’s bad: she’s sooo bad … she’s been a very bad girl … somebody should punish her …

“I’ll shoot her,” Yolanda threatens Jane calmly, and Sabina vaguely realises that Yolanda is trying to bluff Jane out. Oh yeah, Janey doesn’t know Yolanda is wielding a knife rather than a gun; Jane can’t see the weapon – she can just tell that one is indicated from Yolanda’s body language.

“With your knife?” Sabina asks, then laughs in Yolanda’s face. Whoops, that might not have been the smartest move …

Yet Jane moves like lightning, freed up by the intel. Sabina blinks, astonished, as one of Jane’s steel-reinforced stilettos - a weapon in and of itself, kicks their table back and away. Yolanda is on her feet, shouting for reinforcements, wielding her knife in front of her. Sabina continues to sit in her seat, and looks down to see that there is a bit more blood on her skirt. Still no pain, hmm, must be the drug … Hey, what would have happened if Sabina had taken Yolanda’s shot, aka two doses? An OD? A werewolf transformation? Death? It’s an interesting question …

Gun shots! People are shouting and running around them, clearly panicking. Jane hasn’t fired her gun - so as not to spook clubbers, is Sabina’s guess: a kicked over table can be explained away in a rowdy nightclub. However, Yolanda’s henchmen have changed the game: at least two armed thugs are converging on their position fast from opposite sides of the balcony, sprinting up the staircases on each side. One of them has already popped off a few shots. Chaos!

Sabina sits there for long moments (minutes? hours?) feeling like she’s in a music video, one with some kind of time distortion effect. She’s beginning to feel … very strange. Very strange indeed. Sabina Wilson is no babe in the woods when it comes to exotic substances. Yet she can’t quite recall another drug that felt like this one. The dance music sounds … God, it sounds good! Like, epic, and powerful and moving, y’know? Sabina could listen to it all night long …

People are running, screaming, spilling drinks over themselves and each other, all in slow motion. The lights are pretty, so pretty. They sparkle off the sparkles that so many clubbers are wearing. Pretty … Sabina licks her lips. A visual feast.

She vaguely notices that there’s now a veritable stampede blocking both of the balcony’s staircases. Too many clubbers are trying to descend simultaneously. It kind of reminds Sabina of a waterfall: a cascading, chaotic psychotic human-waterfall. “Cascading,” Sabina mouths to herself. The word feels good in her mouth.

The waterfall is getting in the way of Yolanda’s henchmen, one of whom Sabina glimpses trying to shove his way through the crowd … who are headed in the opposite direction. Sabina can see his mouth moving and imagines he is cussing up a storm. She grins, and even that feels like it’s happening in slow motion. Sabina wishes she could hear him! Swear words would pair really well with this epic music.

A surge of … something thrums through Sabina. Whatever it is, it feels fucking righteous. Sabina feels amped, energetic, invincible! A second later, slow-motion-time snaps back into real-time. Sabina laughs and springs into action. Jane has removed her Beretta APX sidearm and tossed her handbag, and is shooting at Yolanda, who is holed up behind a nearby booth. The thugs are well on their way; one has successfully cleared the stairs and is charging across the balcony, shooting at them.

“Time to go!” yells Sabina, running at her girlfriend full tilt, catching Jane around the waist, and taking them both over the balcony’s rail. It’s only a short fall to the packed dancefloor below, and they are both trained to roll to prevent injury as much as possible. That proves impossible with so many dancers to land on, but in and of itself, that has a cushioning effect. Or Sabina doesn’t feel the pain: one or the other. Sabina pushes herself up off a hot girl’s sweaty body, and blows the girl a kiss.

“Sorry, babe,” Sabina tells the half-stunned clubber. “Call me later!” She pops up to her feet and locates Jane, who is stumbling to her feet nearby. Sabina grabs Jane’s hand and tugs her girlfriend towards the exit: Time for alleyway action. They are here to steal drugs, after all. The drugs are in the alley. Sabina remembers, yes sirree.

“Report!” Bosley voice snaps over comms, and Sabina wonders where Bosley’s been lately.

“With Sabina, headed for the alley,” says Jane as she runs next to Sabina, and over Sabina’s comms, simultaneously. It sounds epic. Everything sounds epic.

“Target acquired,” says Elena breathlessly, and Sabina is surprised that it’s already midnight. Past midnight. When did that happen? Where did the time go? Elena goes on:

“Bos, I’m on my way to you.”

“Good,” says Bos, short and sharp. “Jane?”

“Trouble,” says Jane, pushing Sabina down to crouch behind the bar of the main club. Sabina doesn’t remember how they got here: did they jump over the bar? More shots ring out. Sabina looks up to see two bartenders gaping down at them.

“Hi, guys!” Sabina calls, waving up at them. “Hey,” she addresses the Spanish-looking bartender with the amazing rose vines growing up his arm. “Who did your tattoo? It’s spesh.”

“Two shooters,” reports Jane. “They have the high ground. Yolanda has a knife; we’ve been made. The club’s in chaos.”

“Chaos,” adds Sabina helpfully. She pauses thoughtfully. That word taste-feels really good, too. “Cha-os.” Jane gives her a strange look.

“Confirming Sabina’s high.” Jane’s tone is sardonic.

“No confirmation needed.” Bosley’s tone matches Jane’s.

“There are two more henchmen in the alley,” says Elena. “Unknown if they have guns but it’s likely they have something. Try to exit another way.”

“Agreed,” says Bosley. “Change of plan, Angels! Elena, you head around the front and drop off the package by the front door – I’ll retrieve it ASAP and bring our car in as close as possible. Then get inside and provide backup: lay down covering fire. Jane, Sabina, forget neutralising the threats. Get out, now.”

“Roger that.” Jane is scanning the bar wall and bar top coolly. She’s no doubt strategically plotting their next best move. Sabina watches Jane, contentedly. Jane is very pretty. Sexy too. Strong, capable, and such a fucking bad-ass. Sabina is in love with Jane, has been for a long time now.

“On my count,” Jane tells Sabina. “We’ll exit over the centre right, where the bourbon is.” Sabina nods. Check, bourbon. It’s delicious.

“Three,” Jane favours her with a steely look. Sabina thinks Jane might be trying to tell her something, but unfortunately, she has no clue what. Use your words, Jane! Use your words. “Two,” says Jane, “one!”

Jane dives for the centre right. Sabina is hot on her girlfriend’s heels. Moving feels good. Sabina never noticed before the pleasure of running full out, pushing her body to go as fast as it can - no, faster. She leaps over the bar in perfect sync with Jane, using a one-handed vaulting move that feels like flying.

“Later, losers,” Sabina calls back to the gaping bartenders.

Bullets are raining down around the Angels, as is crashing glass and breaking bottles. The crowd is still going wild and not in that fun dance-off way. The music is epic. Sabina is happy; this is heaps of fun! No wonder she became an action hero: it’s like a dream career. Sabina dives between a couple who are making out passionately (did they not notice the shoot-out?!), separating them in the process. It’s pure instinct to miss a bullet headed her way; she didn’t even know that she was dodging until after the fact. Sabina’s clever unplanned-plan works: bullet averted. She rolls on the ground so that she lands on her back and can get a better view of her assailant.

It's a new thug (a back-alley thug?) and he’s pointing a pump-action shotgun at her. Sabina grins hugely. Oh yeah! He’s amped it up another notch! Way to take it through the roof, Tiger Dan! Wait a sec … who is Tiger Dan?

“Not important!” mouths Sabina to herself, and mimes pumping a shotgun at her new friend. Enemy. Whatever.

Out of nowhere Jane slams into the thug, and the two skid to the ground, then grapple urgently for shotgun possession. Sabina springs on them without a second thought. Jane’s hers! Hands off, Dan! Sabina manages to get her arm around Dan’s meaty neck: God, she feels strong. She never really knew her own strength before. It’s pumping through her veins like multiple shotgun pellets. Sabina chokes the thug … and enjoys doing it too. Seconds? Minutes? later she’s yanked off him by, who? Oh, Jane’s here again. Breathing hard and looking pissed. Fuuuck … Sabina hates it when Jane’s pissy with her.

“I’m not pissy,” says Jane, and whoa, Sabina didn’t know Jane was psychic. “Come with me, you fool,” bites Jane – she sure sounds pissy. Better do what she says …

Then Jane is charging across the packed dance floor, heading for the front door, ducking and veering as bullet fire starts up again. Sabina ducks and weaves and even gets in a few dance moves. The music combines with the gunfire with the harsh sound of breathing and soothing rhythmics of heart-pumping. Really, everything’s connected, y’know? It all works together as one big unit: a motherfucking symphony. Sabina doesn’t know how she never realised it before. It’s. So. Obvious.

Elena is up ahead, crouched in the foyer, firing her Glock 19 around the doorway at their pursuers then pulling back to safety when they fire back.

“Jane!” Elena shouts.

“Coming!” shouts Jane ducking under the punch of a thug who has just reached the Angels and is now fighting Jane face-to-face. “Just a sec.”

Sabina tag teams the thug; this is like Street Fighter. Time to provide Kano with a timely assist! Wilson was always insanely good at that old console game: she’s good at a lot of things. Sabina wonders if she can pull off Vega’s ‘Flying Barcelona Attack’ with his ‘Izuna Drop’ thrown in for good measure. Yeah, totally. Vega is cool; Sabina is cool. She doesn’t have a claw weapon like her favourite street fighter character does, but hmm … Sabina stiffens her fingers into straight claws. Improvisation! One nifty makeshift claw-hand, ‘k go!

Sabina runs straight at Latest Thug and leaps up in preparation of Vega-ing his ass. She’s not entirely sure what happens next: did she pull off Vega’s special attack? The thug is lying on the ground, groaning. His face is covered in blood: his nose is smashed to pulp. He certainly doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up any time soon. Say, is that bone? Jane is on her ass nearby, staring up at Sabina in seeming shock.

“Hey baby,” Sabina says to her girlfriend. “Like the view?” She laughs manically: she cracks herself up! She is laughing too hard to see Jane get up, but she feels Jane take her hand and they are on the move again. More gunshots. Time is slow-mo again. It keeps speeding up and slowing down again. Confusing. A bit like being on a carnival’s Tilt-A-Whirl …

Suddenly Sabina senses (somehow) that a bullet is about to hit Jane. Sabina moves, shoving her girlfriend through the nearby foyer’s entrance, with all her (considerable) strength. Jane goes flying. Sabina dives too; they avoid getting shot. Mission accomplished.

Elena is here (cool!). She is babbling something and just now Sabina’s ears have sped up faster than everything else, so she can’t make it out.

“Roger that,” Sabina hears Jane say as her ears slow back down. “Bos?!”

“I’m here!”

“Go, go, go!” shouts Elena, leaning back around the foyer’s doorway again to shoot at their pursuers.

Jane is on her feet, pushing Sabina in front of her. This is annoying, confusing and arousing, all in turn. Are they roleplaying right now? If so, Sabina would like it to be more obvious. Maybe she could be wearing handcuffs. Maybe Jane could be dressed as a cop. Maybe …

“Sabina!” snaps Jane, pushing her harder. “Get going!”

“Yes, Mistress,” jokes Sabina, ignoring Jane’s absolutely filthy glare. The sound of gunfire merges with the epic music again, and Sabina feels slightly sick. It’s less like a symphony and more like a cacophony. She mouths that word, consideringly. “Ca-coph-on-y.”

They are outside (somehow), and time is back to slow. Jane is shoving Sabina into the backseat of the frosty blue sportscar. The sunroof is open … why didn’t they enter through that? Jane’s no fun. Bosley is behind the wheel, blue eyes flashing dangerously. She looks absolutely pumped up on adrenaline. Sabina knows just how Bos feels: Sabina’s never been this amped before!

Jane is running back into the club, Sabina follows her girlfriend’s ass appreciatively with her eyes, caressing it every-which-way. Slow-mo time is really good for this task. Each toned jiggle, each stride of Jane’s long legs in that sinful negligee pretending to be a dress … Sabina is into it. Oh yeah. In. To. It.

“How are you feeling?” Bosley asks, and Sabina snaps her eyes to the front seat. Whoops. She forgot Bosley was in the car. Did Bosley see her ogling Jane so obviously? Now that would be embarrassing ...

“Hot,” Sabina admits. Huffs a breath, tries again. “Slow. Then fast. And really, really amped. Like, I could climb a mountain or eat a mountain or fuck a motherfucking mountain! All three! This shit’s a fucking revelation. You should totally try it, Bos.” Sabina looks back to the club entrance. Time is changing shape again.

“Maybe later,” says Bosley, voice very dry. “Any paranoia?” She studies Sabina carefully. “Delusions?”

“Huh?” Sabina eyes her mentor strangely. “Nope.”

“Rage?” checks Bosley. Sabina tries to think about it. Thinking-on-demand is hard.

“Don’t think so,” she mumbles, eventually. Then brightly: “I’m happy as fuck.”

Jane and Elena have exited the club and are sprinting towards the car. A pursuing thug has just breached the door, lining up a knife throw intended to intersect with Elena’s neck. Time slows yet again, and in Sabina’s professional assessment Elena is about to be decapitated. Maybe. Better not risk it. Sabina explodes out the sunroof and uses the leverage of the car’s roof to action-leap towards Newest Thug. There! That’s more like Vega’s ‘Flying Barcelona Attack’. Maybe.

Whether or not Sabina got Vega’s special attack down, the move works. Thug stumbles back, slamming against the outside wall, hard. But he’s built and fit and he’s already coming back at Sabina, his combat knife thrusting expertly. She ducks aside, grinning at him. This is fun! He’s one sexy meathead, and he’s actually pretty good with that knife. She wonders if he’s also good with his other knife …

“Bitch!” he growls, and Sabina belatedly wonders if she said that out loud.

“You’re the bitch!” Sabina tosses back, kicking him in the kneecap full force. She may be wearing heels but that doesn’t seem to matter with her newfound powerup. The strength of her blow sends him screaming like a baby to the ground, where he rolls around in agony. The knife lies nearby, forgotten. Kneecap crushed, Sabina gauges: she needs a new challenger. She bounces on her toes a little, looking around for someone else to fight …

“Get in the car,” Jane practically growls. Sabina looks at her approaching teammate in the dim lamplight. A surge of Sheer Lust fires Sabina’s blood and suddenly she wants nothing more than to rip Jane’s clothes off and fuck her girlfriend silly. Sabina advances, and Jane must see something in her eyes because Jane actually backs away. Wide-eyed. A first!

“Sabina!” Bosley’s voice is warning, frantic even. “We’ve got to go!”

“Elena, help!” Jane calls, and Elena is there suddenly, and Jane-and-Elena are all but muscling Sabina into the sportcar’s backseat. She is annoyed by this … but also turned on, and it occurs to her that fucking two girlfriends is better than fucking one …

“There’ll be no fucking any time soon,” orders Bosley. Jane is slamming the back door, from her position seated next to Sabina. Elena’s in the front passenger seat, door slamming shut almost in sync.

As though cued, Yolanda Riverson exits the club at a run, long auburn hair whipping in the breeze. She holds another one of those pump-action shotguns in her well-manicured hands. She looks totally dangerous. A powerful woman! Sabina’s mouth waters and her panties do too.

“Go!” shouts Jane.

The Jaguar XF’s tires squeal as Bosley hightails it out of the carpark. Sabina leaps up to stand upright, sticking her head through the sunroof. She gives Yolanda the finger. Both fingers. It is hugely satisfying! Next second, Jane has dragged Sabina back down forcibly, and is yelling for Bosley to close the sunroof. Bosley does so. Sabina crosses her arms and sulks.

No. Fun. At. All.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

This is a nightmare. Jane is trapped in a nightmare about a car chase. Bosley is driving skilfully, pedal to the metal. Elena is in the passenger seat, groping frantically under the seat for the CTAR-21 assault rifle that Jane knows is clipped there. Sabina is seated next to Jane in the back of this souped-up Jaguar XF, practically thigh to thigh. Sabina is high out of her brain, that much is for sure. Her pupils are huge! Jane has never seen (admittedly changeable) Sabina so changeable, so out-of-control. Even the rare berserker-model is a known quantity compared to this version … though Jane has never seen that (she’s only imagined it, based on reading Sabina’s personnel file …).

It's terrifying.

Jane pulls hard on all her considerable resources to keep her face schooled, her hands steady. It takes a lot.

“Pursuit?” snaps Bosley, focused on the mission. Jane checks over her shoulder though she really doesn’t want to take her eyes off of Sabina. It feels too dangerous …

“Nothing yet,” Jane reports tersely.

“Got it!” Elena sounds incredibly relieved.

Elena passes the assault rifle back to Jane, which Jane knows is because she is the weapons expert. If pursuit ensues, Jane will fend it off. Elena will help (of course) and normally Sabina would too (the uncompromised version) … but Jane is their team’s specialist brawler. She’s also a weapons expert. That’s why she gets the big gun: she’ll make best use of it. Elena is hunting through the glovebox and removing a Glock 19 pistol plus replacement ammo. That’s what Elena will use.

“Where’s my gun?” wonders Sabina.

“You don’t need a gun,” Bosley tells Sabina, and Jane feels so, so grateful that Bosley is with them. Bosley will know what to do, if anyone does. Bosley will know. Won’t she?

“It’s true,” smirks Sabina, and her eyes fall shut for a long moment; it almost looks like she’s fallen asleep. Then they spring open again, full focus. “Guns shmuns. My handclaws are weapons.” Sabina holds both hands up with stiffly pointed fingers and Jane has no idea what’s going through her girlfriend’s head. Sabina’s acting crazy!

“Jane, what side effects have you observed?” Bosley’s voice sounds forcibly controlled. Jane knows that Bosley is asking for a catalogue of Sabina’s drugged behaviour: Jane has seen this the most. She sucks in a deep breath and goes ultra-professional. Forces herself to report.

"Strength, speed,” Jane reels off, “both significantly elevated. Sporadic agitation. Confusion, violence: extreme violence. Not making sense. Seems to … go very still then … randomly explode into action. Increased libido. I think her hearing's affected. She only hears me sometimes, and she had both hands pressed over her ears at one point. Don't know about eyesight. But her pupils are shot.”

"No rage?" checks Bosley. "Convulsions, paranoid delusions?"

"No, no, not sure about the last one," says Jane. “Maybe.”

“I’m happy,” Sabina tells them, rolling her eyes. “It feels good, guys. Like so damn good.”

“That’s … good, honey,” says Elena comfortingly. Elena looks back at Jane, and Jane can tell her girlfriend’s just this side of frantic: her eyes are huge. Elena’s comforting voice is being faked, for Sabina’s sake. Hopefully Sabina can’t tell because Jane surely can …

“Deep breaths,” Jane tells Elena, doing her best to reassure her girlfriend. “We’ve got to hold it together.” Firmly: “we’re a team.” Elena nods, and sucks in a breath in response.

Jane says this for herself as much as for Elena. For Bosley too, and Sabina if she’s able to understand them properly. Jane sort of doubts that Sabina can, but anything’s worth a try at this point … this bloody experimental drug is such an unknown quantity …

“We’ll be okay,” says Bosley, glancing meaningfully at Jane in the rear-view mirror.

Jane nods grimly. She looks at Sabina and suddenly notices there’s blood staining the skirt of her girlfriend’s tan-coloured two-piece dress. Concern floods Jane. Sabina follows her gaze.

“Huh,” Sabina says, sounding a bit surprised.

“Bina…” Jane’s voice is soft, against her conscious will. Sabina blinks back at her, seeming calm enough. “Let me have a look,” Jane tries. Sabina leers at her:

“Is that an order?”

It’s grossly inappropriate, but Jane is past caring at this point. She answers instinctively.

“Be quiet and let me,” Jane’s voice snaps yet it’s somehow also gentle. Sabina pouts but says nothing further. She watches Jane, sitting still.

Jane thinks it’s probably safe to approach. Probably. She hopes it is! She’ll just have to risk it …

“What is it?” Bosley’s voice is sharp with concern as she watches the proceedings via the rear-view mirror. Elena has turned around as much as she can in her seatbelt and is watching with wide-eyed worry.

“I think she’s hurt,” Jane tells her team, gently lifting Sabina’s skirt. Jane sees a shallow cut on Sabina’s upper thigh, no longer bleeding: not too bad. Then she sees blood staining Sabina’s panties and her heart stops.

“It doesn’t hurt,” says Sabina. “Nothing does.” Jane lifts her eyes to her girlfriend’s dilated ones.

“What do you mean?” Jane asks carefully. Her eyes flicker back down, and she carefully peels Sabina’s panties down, just enough to ascertain the injury. It’s hard to see well enough. There’s only the interspersed streetlamps plus residual lighting from passing cars and buildings …

“I don’t feel pain,” Sabina says happily. She’s said similar before, as a joke, so Jane doesn’t know how to take her girlfriend now …

“Since the drug, sweetheart?” asks Elena, and Jane feels grateful. Yes, that’s what she wants to know. Thank God that Elena’s here to frame the right question.

“Yeah,” says Sabina. “Noticed when Yolanda cut me.”

So that’s what this is. Jane brushes a gentle finger down the landing strip on Sabina’s vulva: a shallow cut runs alongside it. Yes, Sabina’s been cut. No, it doesn’t seem to be that deep. The blood’s already dried. It’s a superficial injury: Sabina will be fine. It probably won't even scar. Jane sighs out in relief. Thank God. 

“Sabina’s okay, just a shallow cut,” Jane reports, carefully pulling Sabina’s panties and skirt back into position. "No longer bleeding."

Elena huffs out a relieved breath, turning around in her seat to face front. Bosley sighs too.

“Oh, thank God.” Elena couldn’t sound more relieved.

Out of the blue, Sabina has started squirming in place and her breathing is starting to pick up. Jane eyes her girlfriend warily. She only just prevents herself from leaning away … Jane wants to lean away …

“Sabina!” Jane snaps, “focus!” because maybe that will help. It often helps non-drugged Sabina, after all. This version of Sabina doesn’t pay any attention; has she even heard Jane? Sabina’s staring at her fingers – extended out again stiffly – like they’re the most fascinating thing on earth.

“Bosley, we might have a s-situation here,” Jane reports, unable to keep her voice from cracking. Embarrassing.

Bosley glances back at them in the rear-view for long assessing seconds; Jane stares back at Bosley. Then Bosley rips her eyes back to the road; an oncoming vehicle honks a warning. The Jaguar swerves a little. This knocks Jane against her door, and she reaches out, grabbing the handle for balance. In the front seat Jane hears Elena give a small cry. Sabina doesn’t react to the swerve other than her body’s natural movement.

“Sorry!” says Bosley. Tersely: “Jane, what’s going on back there?”

“Sabina’s not hearing me,” reports Jane. She takes a steadying breath and gathers up her courage … waves one hand gingerly in front of Sabina’s fixed gaze. Nada. No pupil movement, at least from what Jane can make out in the streetlight. No visible reaction. Do Sabina’s pupils seem more dilated than before? As impossible as that seems? “Or seeing me,” Jane adds bleakly.

“Overdose?” wonders Elena, which might be what everyone’s thinking. While trying not to be thinking …

“Unknown,” says Jane, “but symptoms don’t match an opioid overdose.”

“Dude, how do you even know that shit?” It’s Sabina again. Jane’s eyes snap to her girlfriend, shocked. Just like that Sabina is rubbing her entire body up against Jane’s side while running one hand along Jane’s thigh very suggestively.

“She’s back,” says Jane, unnecessarily.

“In the band,” agrees Sabina.

“Oh, thank God.” Elena.

“Keep an eye on her.” Bosley.

“She’s touching me!” Jane can’t stop her voice from sounding just a little bit desperate.

“Oh, er…” Bosley eyes them in the rear-view, sounding nonplussed. “Like, touching touching you?”

“It’s a problem?” wonders Elena.

Jane frowns; Elena doesn’t get it. She didn’t have Sabina advance on her in the carpark like some kind of apex predator about to rip its prey’s head off! Elena didn’t look into Sabina’s eyes and see zero signs of their lovable girlfriend. Raw. Lust. Only.

Sabina is sliding a hand under Jane’s dress with Serious Intent. Jane’s dress is very short, so Sabina doesn’t have far to go. Jane lets out a yell and squirms away. There’s nowhere to squirm. Sabina grabs Jane’s arm and pulls Jane around forcibly. This shocks Jane. Sabina’s strong like this! Scarily strong! Jane can’t pull out of Sabina’s grasp, even though Jane is (usually) stronger than both her girlfriends. Jane is trying with all her might, and it’s having zero effect. Then they’re kissing.

Or to be more exact, Sabina is kissing Jane hard, harder than Jane can remember anyone kissing her. Ever. Jane isn’t kissing back. Jane whimpers but not in a good way. She jerks her body as hard as she can in the small space. There’s very little leverage: she tries-and-fails to pull away. Sabina grabs Jane’s other arm: she’s gripping both Jane’s biceps while continuing to kiss Jane. Forcefully. Seemingly with zero awareness that Jane is doing her utmost to escape the kiss …

“Elena, get back there!” orders Bosley. “Damage control!” Bosley sounds a cross between as-frantic-as-Jane-feels and fighting-for-professionalism …

Jane can hear scrambling noises that indicate Elena is on her way. Thank God! Yet how will Elena even fit in this cramped space?! Then Jane’s mind goes blank. Sabina is forcing her tongue down Jane’s throat …

“Sabina, stop!” Elena sounds angry and panicked, simultaneously.

Jane snaps her eyes open. She can make out Elena kneeling precariously between the driver and passenger seats, in the gap between the front seats. Elena is tugging at Sabina with what seems like all her strength. She’s grunting with effort. Jane renews her own struggles, shoving Sabina away as best she can. Her mind flips back into strategic movement: Jane bites Sabina’s tongue.

“Ow!” Sabina pulls away with one hand to her mouth.

Relief rushes through Jane … she stares at Sabina. There’s blood; Jane can’t see how much. Then Sabina pulls back a fist and slams it towards Jane’s face. Only years of MI6 followed by Angels’ training-and-practice enables Jane to pull to the side as fast as she does. Sabina’s fist whisper-thuds against her, only catching a glancing blow across Jane’s cheekbone. Meanwhile Elena has scrambled further into the backseat (somehow) and is half on top of both Jane-and-Sabina, one knee over one of each of theirs. In what looks like sheer desperation, Elena yanks Sabina back by the hair. Trying to distract Sabina, Jane thinks.

The move works. Sabina turns on Elena wrapping both hands around Elena’s throat. Fear floods Jane! She shifts into overdrive …

“Angels!” shouts Bosley desperately, “tranq gun! In the boot!”

Jane thinks that is an inspired idea, at this point. Her strategic mind has kicked back into high-gear and is racing frantically. Though none of them want to risk a tranquiliser mixing with whatever dirty drug is in Sabina’s system (way too dangerous), what’s the bloody alternative?! Elena getting choked out?! Jane getting date raped?! There’re no good choices. First things first: Jane has to rescue Elena!

Even while she’s thinking this, Jane releases her seatbelt. She lunges to grab Sabina around the throat from behind. Sleepy time for Sabina, hopefully, if Jane can just line up her infamous ‘sleepy neck button’ hold (as Sabina calls it) correctly under these chaotic conditions …. The sportscar swerves hard, and the Angels all jerk from one side to the other, in tandem with the swerve. They continue grappling.

“Pursuit!” cries Bosley, sounding even more desperate, if that’s possible. Gunfire cracks the air.

Jane lets out a choked scream of frustration. From bad to worse. From bad to fucking worse!

Jane is having trouble getting enough leverage. Sabina’s hands are still around Elena’s throat and Elena has her own hands over Sabina’s, tugging urgently at the chokehold. Elena’s obviously trying to suck some air in, and free herself from Sabina’s attack. Simultaneously Sabina is slamming her body back against Jane’s, and fuck, drugged-Sabina is strong. Jane isn’t used to this level of sheer force coming from anyone who’s not seven foot tall and built like a mack-truck … she feels dazed …

Bosley swerves wildly – a complete 180. The Angels fly apart, and Jane loses hold of Sabina completely. Swearing, Jane reaches blindly for her girlfriend’s body and receives an elbow-slam in the diaphragm for her trouble. Breath gushes out of Jane and her eyes sting with tears. Jane kicks out wildly hoping she is aiming at Sabina and not Elena: she’s pretty sure she is … but not 100%. Jane connects with nothing. She clocks that Sabina and Elena have separated (courtesy of the force of Bosley’s swerve), and that Elena is also kicking out at Sabina. Elena’s making painful little choking gasps that fry Jane’s nerves to hear. Elena’s kick connects and Sabina flies backwards ...

The Jaguar screeches to an almost-halt, then revs up again fast, heading in the opposite direction. More bullets.

“Hold on!” shouts Bosley. Which is ridiculous because the Angels are fighting for their lives back here - or at least that’s what it feels like. Jane can’t hold on! All Jane can concentrate on right now is putting Sabina down for the count. Then she’ll reassess the situation and go from there …

Something hits Jane; she doesn’t know what, but it hit hard. Her head whips to the side and for a moment she sees stars.

“Jane!” that’s Elena. “Hold on!”

Elena is scrambling over them both in the small space of the backseat (for some reason?); the Angels’ limbs tangle. Jane punches Sabina and feels her fist connect, satisfyingly. Then Sabina’s fist connects with Jane.

Oh! realises Jane as Elena manages to click down the back compartment leading to the boot. Lena’s going for the tranq gun! Inspired! It’s Elena’s best move - if not their team’s best move, all things considered. Jane thoroughly approves. Jane can’t really focus on Elena’s progress though, she’s too damn busy fighting off Sabina … who’s coming on like someone hyped up on an experimental drug. That turns people into bloody werewolves!

Sabina’s breathing sounds like a freight train. Or is that Jane’s? Sabina is raining down blows at a speed that Jane thinks should probably be impossible. Jane has her forearms up to block, and manoeuvring as best she can, considering the limited space … but this is a firestorm! Using all her skill-and-focus, Jane manages to fend off most of Sabina’s blows so that they land with only partial force, but it’s the best she can do. Finally, she somehow gets one knee up and into Sabina’s stomach. Hard. Breathing room; Jane needs breathing room!

Sabina growls and her face twists with what looks horrifyingly like rage. Jane’s blood goes cold. She remembers the thugs at the club: the sizeable goon that Sabina choked out like he was a little girl, before Jane finally managed to yank her girlfriend off. The goon with his nose in his skull: face a bloody mess. Jane is not so sure that one or both aren’t dead. The extremity of Sabina’s sudden violence was shocking. Worse was the glee Jane had seen on her girlfriend’s face – followed up by manic laughter.

“Got it!” Elena sounds breathless and terrified. “Got it!”

Elena rocks back on her heels from where she’s been leaning into the boot, the tranq gun in her grasp.

“Shoot her!” orders Bosley from the front. “It’s the only option!”

More gunfire, more swerving. At this stage Jane is drowning the gunfire out, hyper-focused on a much more pressing priority: not being killed by her enraged girlfriend.

Sabina roars – no, it’s not an exaggeration, and makes a grab for the tranq gun. Elena squeals and yanks the weapon back. It’s mostly luck what happens next, to Jane’s expert eye. Sabina has one hand around the gun’s barrel pulling it towards her … and it’s a pretty sure bet she’s about to score possession of the weapon. However, Elena pulls the trigger! In that same instant. Luckily – ironically because of Sabina – the gun is pointing at Sabina’s breastbone. With a thud the dart hits home.

Sabina rears up and sideswipes Elena who falls back against the door. God, Jane hopes the back doors are locked … and not about to swing open, dumping Elena out onto the road. That was a hard blow. Elena’s probably dazed. Jane dives at Sabina to intervene … and then intervention is unnecessary. Sabina goes limp: falls onto her face. She lies face down on the backseat.

“Thank God,” says Bosley. Controlled-frantic: “Angels, we’re under fire!”

There is no time to pause and check on Sabina’s status. Even though Jane longs to. Jane clenches her jaw and ratchets herself down another level, somewhere deep inside. She goes to a placeless-place in crisis moments, and sucks something up out of the void. Or is sucked down into it? Cool blackness floods her system, and Jane is suddenly calm again. Dissociated maybe? It doesn’t really matter; what’s important is that she can function, and at peak performance too. As is needed now!

Elena has already nudged Sabina’s unconscious body down into the car’s foot space, giving Elena and Jane much needed room to manoeuvre. Jane retrieves the assault rifle and Bosley has already opened the sunroof. Jane snaps up (standing on the backseat) and sticks the rifle out of the sunroof, begins returning fire. At first just in the general direction where the attacking gunfire seems to be coming from … while she scouts for more intel, simultaneously.

She hears one of the backseat windows winding down, and knows Elena is preparing to return fire too. Moments later the distinctive pop of Elena’s Glock confirms this. Jane squints into the wind and the dark of the night as she fires. Bosley is now driving full speed down a multi-laned busy street, and that means lots of swerving in the traffic. It takes all of Jane’s skill just to stay upright, and above and beyond that to shoot. However, she gets it done, because No Damn Choice. That’s what this mission calls for so that’s what Jane does. Jane is a pro.

Jane finally makes out the Angels’ pursuit: a white Ferrari. Well, at least that’ll be easier to see in the dark. Maybe it’s the lucky break their team so-desperately needs. The Ferrari is too far away for Jane to make out who its occupants are, but she can make an educated guess. It’s gaining fast. Bullets are flying their way; Jane’s unable to identify the weapon/s used, as yet. Too much traffic and streetscape noise; they are in a busy part of town. Thank God it’s night-time …

“Hold on!” warns Bosley, and Jane ducks back down into the backseat on sheer instinct. It’s lucky that she does because the sportscar whips under something – Jane is not sure what exactly – that would have taken her head off! Jane huffs out a breath.

Elena is holding onto the door handle with white-knuckled fingers, kneeling upright on the backseat.

“It’s Yolanda driving,” Elena pants. “A goon shooting from the passenger seat.” Jane doesn’t know how Elena managed to ascertain this. Maybe it’s easier to see from her position. Regardless, Jane can use the intel …

Bosley guns the engine even more and makes a hairpin turn. The air slams out of Jane as she hits the back of Bosley’s seat, and Elena thumps into Jane from the side.

“We’re gonna die.” That’s Sabina surprisingly, mumbling into the floor.

Sabina’s awake? Oh crap, Sabina’s awake! Whatever the experimental drug is, it’s beyond all belief. Jane can’t help agreeing with Sabina’s assessment: they’re all going to die. The Angels thought that the vaporiser mission was #MissionDisaster? They thought wrong. Spoke too soon.

“Shall I tranq her again?” gasps out Elena, already fumbling after the tranquiliser gun which lies abandoned on the backseat.

Jane is torn. They really don’t know how the two drugs will interact, especially if they give Sabina a large dose. One Angels-style tranq dart should be enough to put Sabina out cold for several hours. Two is too much on a normal day, but survivable. Sometimes the Angels have to use two tranqs on especially crazed guards, the kind who look like they’ve been snorting up in the bathroom. Or who are built like mack trucks. However, it’s rare to need to. Three darts is … well, you may as well just shoot your victim with a regular bullet to the brain. It’s more efficient. Jane can’t decide …

Bosley makes the call:

“Not yet!” Bosley swerves the Jaguar again and a bullet shatters the driver side mirror. “Damn! I needed that!”

“Bosley!” Jane leaps back up through the sunroof and swings her assault rifle around tracking the pursuing Ferrari, tracking, tracking …

There, a strategically sound target! Jane fires and she’s pretty sure she hits their enemies’ windshield. It doesn’t shatter, bloody hell! Bulletproof glass?! Jane narrows her eyes. Yolanda Riverson’s Ferrari is modified. For gun battles. Figures, Jane should have known …. In contrast, the Angels’ Jaguar XF is souped-up to go faster, but that’s about it. Their windshield will shatter the good old-fashioned way, if fired upon. Like Bosley’s side mirror just did. Bosley swerves the sportscar again.

“Some help please!” Bosley sounds urgent.

Jane clenches her teeth and fires again. She knows she’s almost out of ammo. With her situational awareness, Jane is aware of Elena tossing her Glock aside in the backseat (empty, Jane guesses) and ferreting around in the boot. Seconds later Elena emerges with the Angels’ backup weapons cache which looks something like a large metal firstaid box … only it’s filled with portable arsenal.

“Weapon!” snaps Jane to let Elena know she needs a replacement. There isn’t reloading time available. Efficiently Elena hands Jane up a TAR-21 assault rifle. Jane grabs it, drops her CTAR-21, begins firing.

Sabina is groaning facedown into the floor and mumbling something incoherent. She’s starting to move a little bit, like a hibernating bear beginning to twig that winter is over.

“Hush, sweetie,” Elena tells Sabina, “go back to sleep.” Jane prays that Elena’s strategy works: it would be better for everyone.

“Fuck this shit.” That’s Bosley, obviously at the end of the proverbial rope.

Precision driving is challenging under the best of conditions. Bosley is an expert getaway vehicle driver trained in multiple vehicle types, among the Agency’s best, and far better than the Angels. Elena is something of Bosley’s protégé in getaway driving and is the next most skilled on their team, but Bosley is still far out in front.

However, speeding through downtown in the wee hours, while being shot at by a modified Ferrari with ballistic protection tech, while accounting for the wind drag of an open sunroof, a broken side mirror … and for much of the battle, an Angel-going-werewolf in the backseat … Jane blinks sweat out of her eyes. That’s got to be a new level of difficulty.

Jane hears Bosley dial the car-phone.

“Bosley 342,” Bosley’s voice snaps over the secured connection. It’s on speakerphone. “With my team, enroute for HQ, twenty minutes out. Target drug’s secure in the boot. Seriously modified Ferrari with gunmen in pursuit; our vehicle is heavily damaged and we’re running out of ammo. Wilson is down for the count, but she is now a threat. Repeat, Wilson is a threat – target drug is in her system. Plus, a tranq. Send backup, ASAP! Taking the ‘scenic route’, now.”

Jane knows the Angels’ getaway vehicle will have trackers on it, as do all of their team personally. That’s how their extended team will track their location and hopefully, rendezvous with them soon. Bosley makes a 90 degree turn onto a side road and floors it …

“Affirmative,” snaps a male voice over the car-phone, no doubt one of the Bosleys. “Backup teams 1 and 2, enroute now. We’re including a Saint.”

“Thank fuck,” says Bosley 342, less than professionally. “Hurry please!”

They are now speeding down a forested road on the outskirts of town. Streetlamps are few and far between here, but the moon is out in full and it’s a clear night. Jane remembers what Sabina said (jokingly) about werewolves and can’t help but shiver. Jane can see the flash of gunfire from their pursuers, gaining again. Just how much ammo do their enemies have?! It really isn’t fair.

Elena is hanging out the backseat window again, emptying a new weapon into the night. Another TAR-21, recognises Jane’s expert ear: it must be next to impossible to shoot the assault rifle from that angle. Elena is competent with that weapon class, but hardly at Jane’s level – she must have decided the situation called for it. Or maybe they’ve simply run out of sidearms? The Angels only have the three assault rifles with them, so once Jane and Elena’s current weapons hit empty, they’ll be in an even tighter spot. Unless a miracle happens, and they get the chance to reload. Jane isn’t holding out hope …

The Angels’ bullets ping off the Ferrari, seemingly without doing much damage. Despite being hyper-focused on the shootout and inhumanly calm to boot, Jane’s mind is wandering. Stress of their likely impending deaths maybe? (Ever-growing in likelihood with each ticking second.) She’s unsure. Something to do with the unusual mission parameters and/or how long this adrenaline boost has been operating for? Jane finds herself wondering idly exactly what modifications the enemy Ferrari is sporting: it’s holding up impressively in this gun battle. Which might not be so relevant just now … maybe …

This is totally unlike the Angels’ (pathetic in comparison) Jaguar, which is beginning to look like a peeled tin can that’s headed for recycling. Jane would make a hesitant bet that the Ferrari has something like a B4 armour rating. The windows might be some kind of sandwich of acrylic, polycarbonate and leaded glass … she licks her lips appreciatively. Very nice indeed.

Jane Kano (who reads weapons tech magazines religiously in her spare time, along with various other spy guides and … yes, D/s guides) remembers there’s a new resin-based fibre on the market that is 60% lighter and 10% stronger than steel armour – maybe their enemies have that inserted into their car doors? Bad-ass, if so.

If the Angels survive this mission (a big if), Jane’s going to petition Charlie for an armoured getaway sportscar. In black (of course). She doesn’t know why they don’t have one already … so behind the times. They’re supposed to be an international detectives-cum-spies agency, the best of the best. The best would have an armoured getaway sportscar.

Sabina groans.

A bullet pings off the Jaguar’s back door, driver’s side. Elena yelps and her firing cuts off. Jane curses as she glimpses Elena’s assault rifle bouncing down the road behind them. Then she feels (oddly) like laughing. Which might be a sign of stress. Jane doesn’t laugh. Too unprofessional.

“Shit!” Elena sounds like she’s had it. She’s rifling through the weapons cache again. “We’re out, Jane. No more guns.”

Jane keeps shooting her own assault rifle, out of the sunroof. She hears Elena start the process of reloading Jane’s discarded CTAR-21: good idea. The best idea, under the (shitty) circumstances. Elena is getting much better at keeping her head under pressure. Jane feels vaguely proud.

“Focus, Angels,” says Bosley. “We’ve got this.”

Jane suspects that it’s a lie. A bullet whizzes past Jane’s head, way too close for comfort. Shooting is getting easier for their enemies, now that Bosley is driving down a mostly straight road. There’s no cover, nowhere to hide. It’s too dangerous for Jane to stay so exposed. She’s already almost been shot a handful of times. She ducks back down inside with a muttered curse.

Sabina is moving again, sluggishly, beginning to push herself up off the floor. Weakly. Like someone who’s never actually done a push up, attempting their very first one. Jane shoves a hand between her girlfriend’s shoulder blades and pushes her back down, none too gently.

“Stay down,” Jane warns Sabina, feeling at her wit’s end. So help her! If Sabina re-joins the fray at this key juncture, Jane will re-tranq her girlfriend, personally. Riskiness or no.

The passenger side mirror splinters. Bosley, Elena, and Jane swear in sync. Sabina grumbles unintelligibly into the floor. The back windshield blows out a second later. Jane ducks; Elena is screaming. The sportscar is swerving crazily, then entering an uncontrolled spin. Bosley is yelling; she sounds stressed, thinks Jane. Then Jane is tossed like a ragdoll, and the centrifuge dazes her for long moments. With vague horror she realises that the car is flipping over. Jane doesn’t know how. Where. Why. She’s lost most of her bearings. There is a smack like thunder. Everything goes dark …

… Jane blinks her eyes open and shakes her head, muzzily. Something is dripping into her eyes, and she wipes it away in irritation. Her ears are ringing. She looks around, attempting to take stock. There is a branch sticking through the centre of where the front windshield used to be. A bloody large tree branch! It’s missed Bosley, fortunately, who appears to be slumped against the steering wheel … most likely unconscious. The branch only just extends into the backseat …

Jane turns her head, blinking warm liquid out of her eyes. Blood, she finally ascertains. She must be bleeding. Jane looks into Elena’s concerned gaze; Elena’s pupils are blown. Elena’s hands are on Jane’s face, cupping her cheeks tenderly. Elena is saying something; Jane can’t hear her girlfriend properly. Jane didn’t even realise Elena was there until just now: presumably Elena has been here since Jane opened her eyes …

Jane turns away, looks down. Sabina is stirring again. That’s good, right? Or bad? Jane shakes her head again. She has to get out of the car! Take stock of the situation. Take control of the mission. Yes, that’s it. They all need to exit this vehicle, ASAP. It’s not safe. Bloody death-trap. It needs some serious improvements. Jane muscles open the passenger side door, ignoring the familiar hands that press to her back worriedly. Jane’s out in seconds, stumbling a few paces forward. She swings her aching head around, gathering intel. They’re in a … forest? It’s night-time. The full moon lights up the sky, positioned roughly halfway between 12 o’clock and the horizon. A nearby streetlamp is bent nearly in two, flickering on and off and on again. It looks like something ran into it: something big.

“Janey! Honey!” Elena is stumbling into her, hands fretting at Jane’s back. “Just stop a minute. Let me look at that head wound.”

Jane turns to her girlfriend, and stands meekly, responding to Elena’s obvious distress more than anything else. Jane is still focused on cataloguing mission-relevant intel. Elena wipes at Jane’s temple near her hairline with Elena’s soft velvet jacket, crimson coloured. Good, thinks Jane, the blood won’t show too much. Elena is wearing a tight, pink fuzzy top that bares her midriff and torn faded-blue jeans, paired with strappy pink heels (complete with bows). The fuzzy top has little white daisies on it. The Angels were going for ‘cute and innocent yet totally fuckable’ for Elena’s back-alley act, Sabina’s turn-of-phrase. Jane remembers Sabina’s trademark smirk as she teased Elena in the costume closet:

“Y’know, Lena,” Sabina had joked, “you need to make us want to fuck you … but then we feel guilty for corrupting your virgin ass.” Elena had giggled (typical). Jane had rolled her eyes, but inside she was smirking too.

“Here,” Jane had said, handing over a fuzzy pink top for Elena to try on. “It’s got daisies.” She managed to make it sound like daisies were the pox.

“Adorable!” Sabina had squealed, holding it up against Elena. “Can anyone say, ‘fuckable virgin’? This is like, perfect.”

“We can play Virgin Maiden later, if you like,” Elena had said coyly, twirling one finger around her wavy brown locks, fluttering her eyelashes at Sabina. Very suggestively.

Jane had been momentarily shocked. Sometimes she forgot how sexual Elena could be, especially around Sabina’s influence. Elena could even give Sabina a run for her money; Jane had occasionally seen Sabina floored and speechless by Elena Houghlin in sex-kitten-mode. This time around Sabina had just bounced on her toes in obvious excitement.

“Yes!” Fist pump. “Wish granted, m’lady.” Sabina had swept low in a corny? charming? bow. “Shall I be Prince Charming, here to teach you the arts of ‘womanly love’? Or the huntsman, here to deflower you soundly?”

“Hmm,” Elena had giggled prettily and pouted sexily. She’d looked like she was thinking hard.

Jane had felt turned on herself by her girlfriends’ raunchy suggestions, though she didn’t show it. Sometimes Jane felt weird when her girlfriends got so flirty-dirty-sweet. She didn’t know why; she just did. Jane usually did her best to hide this behind her trademark stoic expression. Most of the time she succeeded. Thank God.

“Can you be both?” Elena had asked Sabina. “Like start out as Prince Charming and then halfway through, reveal that you’re actually the huntsman in disguise?” Sabina’s eyes had widened appreciatively.

“Great idea, sugar muffin. I’m so down.” Sabina had glanced over to Jane enquiringly. “How about you, boo? You could be my maidservant turned evil henchwoman. Or…” she’d wiggled her eyebrows, “manservant turned evil henchman.”

“I’ll see how I’m feeling.” Jane had appreciated the invite … and she’d also felt awkward-as-hell at the same time. Her girlfriends had given her affectionate smirks, in tandem. Jane had felt her bottom lip curving out in an answering pout, which she’d sucked back in with iron willpower. She’d succeeded. Just. Crisis averted just in time …

Right now, is the true crisis. Jane comes back to herself with a start.

Elena is wiping gently at Jane’s aching head, mopping up the worst of the blood. Head wounds can bleed a lot: Jane knows that. So who’s to say how serious it actually is. It might be fine. It’s probably fine: Jane is going to proceed on that assumption. Jane glances around trying to orient herself. Intel, right. Gathering intel. They’re on a mission …

There is a throaty groan from behind them which Jane recognises as Sabina. Jane looks around to see their girlfriend stumbling over, looking the worse for wear. Sabina’s bleached mane of hair is particularly wild, her eyes are particularly glazed. She’s mumbling something incoherent, non-stop. Jane remembers suddenly about the drug, and sucks in a breath. She looks to Elena and sees her girlfriend is remembering too. They turn to Sabina in tandem and …

… Gun fire explodes over Jane’s shoulder. She whirls. She makes out the white Ferrari, pulled up just down the road. Yolanda Riverson is nowhere to be seen. Yolanda’s henchman is crouched behind the bonnet, using it as a makeshift shield, and opening up fire with what appears to be some kind of submachine gun. Oh SHIT!

Jane is already moving. She grabs Elena and tosses her girlfriend over one shoulder, holding Elena by the thighs with her head against Jane’s back. Jane is launching them over the nearby Jaguar, leaping onto the (half-crumpled) bonnet, striding over: one, two steps, jumping down to the ground, where she stumbles on the landing. They both roll apart, down for the count … but at least they’re shielded by their getaway vehicle. Where the fuck did that submachine gun come from, and why is the thug only using it now? It’s a CZ Scorpion Evo 3 A1, Jane’s brain identifies, a second later. Hodak, the assassin from the mission where she and Sabina met Elena, had one of those beauties. Jane’s original Bosley had died in that firefight. From. That. Very. Gun. Oh shit, Sabina!

Jane sucks in a deep breath, preparing herself to go back for Sabina. She moves into a crouch, struggling a little with the movement: maybe something’s sprained?

“Sabina!” yells Elena, and Jane realises muggily that Elena is up already, though she’s crouching protectively behind their new car-shield. “Ooooooh!”

“What?!” Jane joins Elena and stares at the scene playing out with serious shock.

Sabina is no longer where they left her. She’s already halfway across the clearing, pelting towards the Ferrari, and Jane could swear Sabina’s running much faster than should be possible for someone outside of an Olympic-level sprinter. It’s not inhumanly fast … but it’s close.

Sabina springs up on the Ferrari’s bonnet, and she makes it look easy, like walking up the stairs, leisurely. Only Sabina is running full tilt, practically flying. She is over in one jump, maybe some kind of vaulting move? Sabina’s moving sooo fast plus Jane’s head is pounding painfully in time with her racing heartbeat: it’s. hard. to. keep. track.

The thug is shouting wordlessly in what sounds like anger-and-fear. His submachine gun jerks up, but Sabina has ripped it away before he gets the chance to fill her with bullets (thank God). Gripping his Evo 3 A1 by the butt end, Sabina brings it down on his unprotected face. One, two, three, four, five, six! Sharp staccato hits, delivered at full power. Sabina pumps these blows so fast and hard that her opponent doesn’t have a chance to defend himself. And Sabina just keeps going. Jane blinks, transfixed. The thug is down, yet Sabina is still hitting him.

Now Yolanda appears, sliding out from the Ferrari’s backseat where she must have been … hiding? Yolanda’s eyes are wide with fear, and no weapons are in sight. Jane feels a sudden surge of spite. Good. Let that bitch get what’s coming to her!

Despite her visible shaking, Yolanda’s posture is oddly provocative. Sabina stands up slowly. The Evo 3 A1 drops to the ground, clearly forgotten. The thug lies still; Jane’s pretty sure he’s dead. If not, he would probably be better off dead, after sustaining that kind of a beating. Jane is too far away to hear Yolanda, but it looks like she’s … flirting with Sabina? Jane looks to Elena for confirmation, feeling dazed. Elena meets Jane’s eyes with her own eyes very wide and … angry? Yeah, Elena looks angry. So maybe Jane saw that right. She looks back at the crime scene …

Sabina swaggers towards Yolanda, and Jane recognises it as one of Sabina’s trademark seductive moves. Oh God. Sabina is flirting back. Oh God …

“The drug makes people super horny,” whispers Elena to Jane. “Yolanda must be saving herself by … taking advantage.”

“Smart,” agrees Jane, curling her lip in disgust. “What a bitch.”

“A real she-devil,” agrees Elena. “Well, Sabina’s occupied … for now. Let’s check on Bos.”

Jane silently agrees that this plan is tactically sound. Wait, Elena is leading their team’s strategy now? Jane must have taken a harder hit than she realised … no wonder her head hurts …

Jane joins Elena at the Jaguar’s driver-side door, which appears to be stuck. Neither of them can get it open: they take turns. Next, they try together, but are unsuccessful.

“We need leverage,” says Jane, wiping fresh blood out of her eyes. “There’s a crowbar in the weapons cache.” She wipes her hand clean on her dress. Jane’s glad she wore black.

“Let’s try the other side first,” says Elena pragmatically.

Elena is already there, and sure enough the passenger door opens fine and she crawls into the sportscar. Jane sees that Elena is shaking Bosley gently, and talking to her, but Jane can’t hear what Elena’s saying. Jane glances back over her shoulder, checking their team’s six. All clear. Next, Jane locates Sabina and Yolanda again, who are standing at Jane’s current eight o’clock, still by the Ferrari. Jane’s eyes widen. Sabina and Yolanda are locked together in a passionate kiss.

While it’s not … fully unexpected, it’s still a shock. Jane brushes more blood away. Also, it’s … hot. Jane can appreciate it, aesthetically-speaking. Yolanda’s a gorgeous, elegant woman dressed a bit like Marilyn Monroe – which Jane is into. Sabina Wilson is pretty much always sexy, in Jane’s (secret, not secret) opinion. Even when Sabina’s werewolf-wild, dressed in a blood-stained tan, little two-piece that leaves little to the imagination. The two-piece dress might as well be skin-coloured … it’s not so different from the actual shade of Sabina’s skin. At least when she has a tan. Jane blinks again. This is like something out of a cheap porn production: Tarzan and Jane? Werewolf and Marilyn? Jane’s mouth waters a little. Lags open. It seems surreal …

“Oh no you don’t!” Elena addresses this in the kissers’ direction as she emerges from the car with a woozy-looking Bosley in tow.

Elena props Bosley against the side of their car; Jane winces: Bosley has two black eyes. Presumably from hitting the steering wheel. That must really hurt. Elena seems like she’s maybe about to charge towards the kissing women. She seems … angry. Jane grabs Elena’s arm as her girlfriend storms past, pure instinct really.

“Ix-nay on the erewolf-way,”* Jane says, urgently. It’s basically code (Pig Latin) for ‘avoid getting the werewolf’s attention if you value our fucking lives’. Or something like that. 

Elena gives Jane a strange look, and Bosley must be feeling at least a little better, because she smirks in obvious agreement.

“Good call,” says Bosley to Jane, then lets out a groan. “This hurts like a motherfucker.”

“B-b-but!” Elena gestures urgently towards Yolanda and Sabina. The two are now lip locked on the Ferrari’s bonnet, bodies writhing rhythmically.

Shouldn’t the bonnet be too hot to lie on? wonders Jane. Oh yeah, it’s hot. This porn movie is ramping up. Yolanda’s on top which is … kind of surprising. Oh wait, it’s subby Sabina, Jane recognises that particular little whimper, even across a clearing and even with her head injury. So, makes sense. Jane frowns. Wait, what? Sabina is giving it up for Domme-Yolanda? What?!

A surge of pure possessive rage floods Jane’s system. Unthinkingly, she begins to charge the kissing women only to have both her arms grabbed forcibly: one by Elena, one by Bosley.

“Angels!” snaps Bosley. “Think of the greater good!”

Jane tries to. Presumably Elena, who is visibly fretting at her side, is doing the same thing. Werewolf drug. Extreme violence. Rapey-level libido. Noted. The greater good is to keep Sabina occupied, somewhere where she can’t hurt anyone important. Yolanda doesn’t count; Jane is just fine with whatever might happen next to Yolanda Riverson. If they’re lucky, it will be close to what just happened to Yolanda’s thug. Or worse.

Beside Jane, Elena settles down, as she doubtless arrives at a similar conclusion.

“How is she even awake?” Bosley mutters, obviously referring to Jane’s AWOL girlfriend. “The tranq took her down for what, five minutes? Ten, max?”

“Massive amounts of adrenaline,” guesses Elena. “Whatever this drug is, it’s got Sabina amped up to max level! Did you see how strong she is? How fast?!” Elena shakes her head with wonder, and Jane rather suspects geeky-scientist-mode has been activated. “Can you imagine a team of bad guys high on this stuff?”

Jane shudders. She’d rather not.

“It’s next level,” Bosley agrees. “Our top priority is to get the recovered drug cache back to HQ for analysis. Second priority is to not be killed or raped by our very own teammate.”

She delivers her second line with Bosley-typical ironic humour, and Jane reads it as a sign of coping with an impossible situation. Jane’s noticed that both Bosley and Sabina use this coping mechanism, on the regular. In that way, they remind Jane of each other, and it helps her understand their off-beat relationship. A little.

“Sabina’s scary right now,” mutters Elena, which is stating the obvious. Still, Jane appreciates how Elena is only saying what everyone’s thinking, and what Jane’s tough-image can’t admit to publicly (at least without Elena stating it first).

“Yes,” Jane concedes, taking Elena’s hand in hers. “She is.”

“We need to wrap your head injury,” Bosley tells Jane. “Too much bleeding.” Bosley’s standing upright, no longer leaning against the Jaguar. She’s swaying just a little, running one hand over Jane’s brow just below where it hurts the most. Jane steps back a little; Bosley’s hand drops away. Bosley addresses Elena: “Get the first aid kid.” It’s in the boot; Elena rushes to retrieve it.

Jane leans back against the remains of the Jaguar, grateful to rest temporarily and gather her strength. For whatever’s coming. She glances over to Yolanda-and-Sabina who may or may not have gone past Kissing As Foreplay and are up to Having Sex. That looks … likely. Jane glances away quickly, trying to block out the sex-sounds – especially Sabina’s. This mission has veered seriously off-course. Could it be worse?

From across the clearing, Sabina lets out the particular whimper that Jane associates with her girlfriend being sky-high on sub-space.* Jane’s teeth clench.

It could not be worse.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV to begin … then shit gets CRAZY!

Sabina Wilson is having the time of her fucking life. Marilyn Monroe has three fingers buried deep in Sabina’s dripping wet pussy … no four. Sabina wonders if she could take a fist: she feels like she could take a fist. She’s that aroused, like crazy aroused, like it’s impossible to think, to do anything more than whimper and writhe and arch and rock her aching pussy against Marilyn’s firm fingers.

“Yeah, take it you little slut,” growls Marilyn, and Sabina wonders how Marilyn knows just what to say to make her even wetter. Marilyn is the bomb! What a bombshell.

“Please, oh please,” Sabina begs, rocking harder, arching higher, trying to get Marilyn to slip her another finger and some more friction. Sabina is so fucking horny! She is wide, wet, and open. Sabina wants to stay submissive (because that’s so hot), but it’s certainly hard, because power is thrumming through her veins and she also desires to flip Marilyn over and ream the woman up the ass, while bent over the bonnet. Sabina’s caught right on the line of not knowing what she needs more: to be topped or to top. What a fucking sweet dilemma …

Marilyn pounds her harder. Sabina groans, long and loud, and meets Marilyn’s hand with energetic hips, thrust for thrust.

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” Sabina hears from somewhere far away, and the voice is familiar yet doesn’t translate into conscious recognition. Sabina can’t be fucked trying to think right now. She can’t be fucked in general. Where are her inhibitions? Where is her shame?

They’re gushing out onto Marilyn’s well-manicured hand, that’s where they are! Sabina screams out her orgasm. Her whole body shakes helplessly …

As though to illustrate the intensity of this moment, a number of vehicles pull up nearby: all skidding tires and blaring horns. There are flashing lights, orders barked over a loudspeaker, maybe even gunshots. Sabina registers all this vaguely, like some kind of blurry movie montage. Or a particularly shit abstract painting … that’s she’s been painted into? Sabina’s mostly focused on cumming, epically hard. Priorities!

Suddenly, a surge of … something thrums throughout her body. It’s not cum: that’s finished gushing. Sabina recognises the surge from the first time it happened, back on the nightclub’s balcony - only it’s harder, faster, even better. She feels fucking righteous! Amped, energetic, utterly invincible! Time goes slow-mo and Sabina finds herself moving on autopilot and watching herself do this (somehow) … as though she’s the only lucid character in a dream. She watches from somewhere (outside of her body?) as she sits up, takes Yolanda (not Marilyn, Yolanda…) by the shoulders, leaning close like a lover. Then Sabina head butts her erstwhile lover soundly.

Yolanda goes flying, spinning away off the bonnet, slams into the ground. Lies still. Maybe moves a little; Sabina’s vision blurs so that everything keeps moving, just a little, fuzzy at the edges. Her head feels like it’s splitting up the middle from the nape of her neck to the crown, and at the same time she feels?/hears?/sees?/gut-senses? a violent rushing. It’s up her spine, no, it’s in her head, it’s bursting out, and she momentarily fears that her brain is about to explode. That’s what it fucking feels like! Impending brain explosion, imminent. Someone is screaming Sabina’s name: maybe it’s her, maybe it’s someone, screaming her name, who?

Sabina’s body is moving again, flipping acrobatically off of the car, and whirling to face the new threat: a handful of vehicles. An ambulance, sportscar, two motorbikes, an armoured van. People with guns, a lot of people, a lot of assorted weapons. Fuck me, Sabina watches dream-Sabina think, and then she snaps completely out of her head-body-consciousness (what? what?!) and is …

… Elena’s? POV

Elena-Sabina is running over to join the two backup teams: six Angels all up. The backup teams’ two Bosleys are on the scene, as is her team’s Saint, whom she glimpses in the back of the ambulance. Jane is next to her, Bosley 342’s makeshift bandage around Jane’s head, already stained with blood. Elena-Sabina bites her lip, fretfully. Jane has already bled so much …

She glances over at their Bosley standing on Jane’s other side and notices that Bos has two black eyes – Sabina-Elena winces. Oof, that’s got to hurt.

They take cover behind the armoured van.

“Uh-oh!” cries fellow Angel, Ashley, crouched behind the nearby sportscar and packing some kind of submachine gun, “she’s going supernova!”

Overkill, thinks Sabina-Elena, eyeing Ashley’s submachine gun critically. They don’t need a sub for …

… she turns her eyes towards their target: the crazy woman by the Ferrari who is screaming her head off while clutching said head, tearing at her short hair, bending almost double. Fuck me. Maybe they do need the sub …

No, wait! That’s me. What? What?! She snaps out of Elena’s-POV and …

… Jane’s? POV

Jane-Sabina catches the SIG-Sauer P250 Compact pistol that fellow Angel, Olawumi tosses towards her with way less than her usual grace. She feels reassured to have hands on a weapon, and a favoured one at that. Did Jane-Sabina dare to think that this situation couldn’t get worse? Well, it has.

Her eyes slide to Yolanda bloody Riverson for a moment, who is well and truly unconscious. Jane-Sabina can’t help but smirk a little as she remembers Sabina’s epic head butt. Yeah, that had been her highlight of this God-forsaken mission. The lowlight had happened immediately prior: Sabina orgasming in public at/on Yolanda’s hand, while announcing it to the world like a banshee. Jane-Sabina cringes and forces the (graphic) memory down. Her head aches horribly, but she can’t pay attention to that now. Concentrate, concentrate. Pull on the void. Go dark, get calm …

She raises her P250 Compact and sights along it steadily: cool, calm and competent. Sabina is still going off like a banshee, clearly losing whatever little sanity she still had. Jane-Sabina cares but doesn’t care: her head is in the game. Shoot Sabina? Is that the next best move?! The mission is compromised; it’s fucking compromised. The top priority is to get the target drugs to base. The secondary target is to stop Sabina from hurting – more likely killing –  all of them. Jane-Sabina wonders what that adds up to: it’s oddly hard to think. Her head hurts like a banshee is screaming and won’t shut up. Her eyes snap to Bosley 342 who’s standing nearby: they need orders. Bosley needs to make this call.

“Bosley?” she asks.

“Don’t ask me!” says Bosley. “I think she’s peaking!”

Drug-talk for highest possible concentration in the bloodstream, when a drug is at its most intense and powerful, Sabina-Jane knows: she’s taken a lot of drugs in her time. She eyes her melting-down girlfriend critically. Yeah, yeah, peaking: that seems likely. God, this werewolf-drug is such a motherfucking trip …

She blinks.

Jane-Sabina studies her screaming girlfriend clinically … and feels a stab of some agonising emotion that she won’t let herself look at too closely. Her finger squeezes against the trigger and she grits her teeth. No choice, no choice, maybe she can line up a non-lethal shot …

No wait, it’s not her girlfriend. It’s herself. What? What?! She snaps out of Jane’s-POV and …

… Bosley’s? POV

Bosley-Sabina has a splitting headache, no doubt from slamming her head against the steering wheel or airbag or tree branch, or whatever the hell happened in that car crash. Bosley-Sabina doesn’t remember exactly; she blacked out. That’s not good, she knows, and neither are the two black eyes she can see herself sporting via her reflection in the armoured van’s window. She grimaces, and pats at her face for a moment. She’s really going to have to up her beauty regime …

“Bos?” Elena’s voice is soft and scared. Bosley-Sabina glances over at her trembling agent and forces herself to re-focus. Righto, so Bosley-Sabina’s not at her mission-best, obviously. But a critical mission waits for no one. And this is a critical mission, textbook example!

Sabina-Bosley looks to Jane next, and bites back a swearword, reaching forward to knock Jane’s hand to the side, only a moment before Jane pulls the trigger. The pistol slams harmlessly off of the car door and Jane shakes her hand with a glare.

“Chill, killer!” cries Sabina-Bosley. She blinks for a long beat. Her head really hurts …

Bolsey-Sabina adds:

“We can still take her down peacefully.”

“Can we?” bites back Jane. Sabina-Bosley glances at the trainwreck who’s screaming down the clearing. Okaaaaaay. Maybe not …

“The tranq gun!” Bosley-Sabina orders, because, hey, a risk of death is better than certain death. It’s a strategic line call … but a clear one. She raises her voice so the backup Angels can hear her too. “Somebody, tranq Sabina!”

Olawumi Sani is already on it, raising a tranquiliser gun expertly, sighting down the barrel. She is using one of the motorcycles as cover.

Sabina-Bosley raises an appreciative eyebrow. Olawumi looks really hot right now. Sabina-Bosley’s always had a thing for motorcycles, and when you pair that up with guns …

Oh wait, oh shit! Olawumi is about to tranq-dart herself. Not cool, dude, not cool! She snaps out of Bosley’s-POV and …

… Sabina’s POV

Sabina is back! Well, sort of. She’s watching her body as she floats somewhere indeterminate, yet nearby. Move, she thinks at her body, kinda outraged and kinda amused. Move your ass!

Her ass moves. Fast as! God, her body’s like The Flash. It? She? is running towards the forest, away from the posse of spy-types. She feels fantastic. The head-splitting pain is gone, replaced by a creeping suspicion that she’s actually some kind of genius. Or superhero, whatever. Her consciousness feels waaay expanded, dude. Like, she was in people’s heads and shit.

Sabina saw the world from their point-of-view and her own, in alternating waves – either the world through their worldview as they experienced it – or the world through their eyes-and-senses yet through her worldview … without knowing that she was Sabina – until she remembered that she was Sabina – and snapped randomly? into some other point-of-consciousness! Totes confusing shit, but trippy as fuck.

So … why is Sabina heading for the forest? Oh, dude, this shit is embarrassing: her body’s zooming up a tree, climbing it like some kind of Twilight-style spider-monkey. Sabina’s not a vampire, for Chrissake, she’s a souped-up superhero! There’s a fucking difference …

Maybe it’s so I don’t get shot, muses Sabina, watching her body perch in the tree’s topmost branches. This shit sure as hell doesn’t look like it’s been approved by Workplace Health & Safety. Is that branch going to hold her weight? Sabina holds her breath, even though she’s not in her body (somehow) and there’s no breath to hold …

Oh yeah, Sabina remembers … Rambo Jane had been about to shoot her. What was her baby thinking?! Sabina rolls her eyes (metaphorically) and settles down: that’s why she’s up a tree with her ass in the wind. Sabina even knows what Jane was thinking; she was thinking it too (somehow!). Totally understandable, really. Janey was injured … she couldn’t think clearly. And hey, fascinating to peer into how Jane’s ‘void power’ works, from the inside-out. Sabina hadn’t known-felt that before! She’d only seen Jane get all blank and ultra-efficient-robot, ready to terminate whatever threat threatened, from the outside-in …

Sabina’s treed body assesses the situation via its peachy-keen eyesight: the (many) Angels on the ground seem to be milling around in confusion. They look stupid. Pointing and waving and arguing, that sort of thing: barely controlled chaos. She grins and high fives … herself? Metaphorically? With no hands? With hands? Fucking hold onto the tree, spider monkey! This shit ain’t OHS approved!

Sabina narrows her eyes as Olawumi approaches stealthily (yet obviously, from the vantage point of Sabina’s superior position), tranquiliser gun in tow, coming much closer to the tree than any other Angel. Oh, fuck Sabina sideways. Olawumi’s gonna tranq her? Still?! Even though Sabina’s helpless, up a tree? Even though she looks so cute, like a spider monkey?

“I thought we were friends!” Sabina yells down the tree. Cool, her body can still vocalise upon command. She wasn’t so sure there, for a red-hot minute …

The ebony-skinned Angel grins up at her toothily:

“That was before you went insane.”

Sabina puts a hand to her heart, fake-hurt. She may also be smirking. Hey, she lives for banter! No banter, not a real Angel, in her playbook …

Olawumi raises the gun, and sights up the tree, tongue sticking out endearingly. Shit, shit, shit! Sabina may be fast, but it’s not like she can dodge … without falling out the tree.

Sudden insight blooms. Genius level insight! Sabina matches Olawumi’s toothy grin with a toothier one of her own …

… and flings her consciousness straight at Olawumi’s intricately beaded head …

… Olawumi’s? POV

Olawumi-Sabina clenches her finger against the trigger. This shot will be easy. Wilson is quite literally, a sitting duck …

Suddenly she stops. She’s not sure why exactly. For a moment her brain is muzzy with confusion. She lowers the tranq gun a little. What?

What what! sing-thinks Sabina-Olawumi, and she shakes her beads to clear her head. They clack pleasingly. She glances around as her friend Sakura sneaks up beside her:

“What’s up, girlfriend?” she sing-songs.

Sakura gives her a strange look, and then uses military hand signals that essentially indicate, “shut up”, and “she’ll hear you,” with a meaningful nod in treed-Sabina’s direction.

Sabina-Olawumi just shrugs: “she’s got super-senses, y’know.” She winks at her body up in the tree. “I betcha Sabina’s looking at you Right. Fucking. Now.”

Sakura looks appropriately freaked, which is fully rewarding. She stands up from her sneaking crouch, and glares at Sabina-Olawumi.

“What’s the deal?” Sakura hisses. “Tranq her already!”

Sabina-Olawumi grins. Oh, but this is way too easy. She swings her gun back up as though she’s following Sakura’s directive. Then whiplash quick, she spins to shove the gun barrel against Sakura’s stomach.

Sakura’s familiar brown eyes go huge. But it’s too late.

Sabina-Olawumi clicks the trigger. Fires the tranq dart! Sakura’s eyes roll up in her head and she drops. Darted.

With what can only be described as a manic laugh, Sabina-Olawumi tosses her beads, turns the gun towards her own (borrowed) body (awkwardly to be sure), and pulls the trigger again.

She simultaneously flings her consciousness through the air towards the nearest consciousness that she can sense, vacating Olawumi’s body before it hits the ground. She doesn’t know what would have happened if she’d been in residence when the tranquiliser kicked in! Luckily, she’d left a split second before that happened.

Hmm, maybe that’s how this DrugPower works: it jumps to the nearest …

… Saint’s? POV

… she slams into a warm and familiar consciousness, one she recognises as being a ‘safe place’ on some deeply instinctual level.

Saint-Sabina opens his eyes. He blinks, then blinks again. What was that? One moment he’d been running towards Olawumi Sani and Sakura Kobayashi to help: the Angels+ had all just watched those teammates tranquilise each other … sheer insanity! Sabina was still up a tree, so it wasn’t her, go figure. Next moment he was stumbling to a halt, head aching fiercely.

Not to mention that he feels … strongly yearning with a heaping of nostalgia, for no good reason, out of the blue. He feels a surge of love. He feels almost like he is with a beloved friend or maybe even a protective older brother or nurturing father figure. He feels … safe. Without conscious thought, his hand covers his heart and hovers there.

Saint-Sabina is in touch with his emotional world much more than the average person: it’s part of the natural aptitude and honed skillset of his therapist profession. His eyes widen as his deep empathy helps him recognise that these feelings, this presence is …

“…Sabina?” It comes out as a whisper.

Sabina-Saint smiles hugely:

“Yeah!” she says, and Saint’s-body is seemingly talking aloud to no one. “Saintly!”

“Oh my God,” mutters Saint-Sabina, seemingly to himself. “Dios mío,” he repeats in utter shock. “How is this happening?!”

“I don’t know!” admits Sabina-Saint cheerfully. “But I’m glad you’re here, bro.” She glances around the clearing. “It’s been a … really shitty night.”

“So I’ve heard,” Saint-Sabina says drily. His body turns to look back at the semi-circle of vehicles shielding their respective Angels and Bosleys, to assess the unfolding situation. For a moment his head whirls. He hadn’t meant to move his body …

“Sorry ‘bout that,” says Sabina-Saint. “Hey, just chill for a moment, wouldcha? I need to get up to date.”

Saint-Sabina imagines taking a deep breath and does his best to relax. His instincts scream at him to throw Sabina-Saint (it is Sabina, right? Dios mío, Dios mío!) out of his body (but how?!). Yet his heart says to trust. Saint-Sabina usually goes with his heart in life, so he uses all his well-exercised self-control to do so now.

“Thanks, dude,” says Sabina-Saint, pacing measuredly towards the collection of vehicles.

Saint-Sabina feels that strong surge of love again: affectionate and grateful. He hadn’t fully realised how important he is to her, how valued …

“Moron,” says Sabina-Saint, simultaneously jokey and teary. “Of course I love you, man. Like, so much.”

Saint-Sabina automatically sends a strong surge of love back to her. It is tender, protective, admiring, flavoured with a tinge of fond exasperation. It’s something like an older brother might feel towards an annoying younger sister, or what you’d feel for a dear friend or perhaps even a beloved daughter.

“You’re gonna make me cry,” mutters Sabina-Saint, wiping surreptitiously at her arm with his sleeve.

{Too late,} Saint-Sabina thinks to her with a grin. He has just realised they can think at each other. He can feel her emotions for goodness’ sake; that’s nothing short of miraculous! There is no need to use his body to communicate with her; they are sharing his body.

 “It’s fucking-tastic,” she agrees, perhaps forgetting that she can think at him rather than speak. Or maybe she can’t; maybe that is just him.

“I think it’s you,” Sabina-Saint tells him, still heading for the extended Angels+ team, deliberately unhurried. Saint-Sabina can somehow feel her intentions: he picks up that she is aiming not to give away her position to the other Angels. She doesn’t want them to see through her cover as ‘Saint’ …

Sabina-Saint shrugs. “I couldn’t do this psychic-level shit with the others. You must be extra sensitive.”

Saint-Sabina feels her attention focusing in on the mission, and so considerately chooses not to reply. From his front row seat, he watches in fascination.

Sabina-Saint catalogues everyone’s positions: Bosley 342, Jane, and Elena are still behind the armoured van. Angie is behind one of the motorbikes. Mel and Huiqing are sneaking through the forest, enroute to Olawumi’s and Sakura’s senseless bodies. There is a Bosley peeking out from around the back of the ambulance: a tall European man whom Sabina doesn’t like much, although she doesn’t know him well.

{311,} Saint-Sabina thinks at her, helpfully.

Ashley hunches behind the sportscar with her Bosley, that black-bearded guy Sabina-Saint had done a few missions with in Rio: what an asshole. Which number is he again?

{369,} thinks Saint-Sabina.

“I don’t know how you remember all their numbers,” Sabina-Saint mutters under her breath. “It’s such a stupid system.” A quick memory flashes into her head, Bosley 369 chewing her out after a mission where she’d … accidentally gone berserk. She shakes herself, pushing it away.

Concentrate, Saint-Sabina hears Sabina-Saint think to herself. The thought echoes in their head strangely for a moment, like reverb.

“Gnarly,” says Sabina-Saint.

{Vomit-inducing,} think-corrects Saint-Sabina.

Sabina-Saint laughs aloud and Saint-Sabina chuckles mentally.

“Such a lot of backup,” jokes Sabina-Saint sticking a thumb into her chest and twisting the face’s expression into a coquettish look. “Just for li’l ol’ me?”

{You should see yourself,} Saint-Sabina thinks back, long-sufferingly. {Your other self that is. You make The Wolf Man look like a puppy.}

“Aw shucks,” says Sabina-Saint jokily, “you say the nicest things.” She rubs her hand behind her neck and despite her bantering tone, Saint-Sabina feels a wave of embarrassment roll over her.

{It’s not your fault,} Saint-Sabina thinks at her gently. {You know it’s the drug.}

“Yeah,” Sabina-Saint mumbles. “I don’t actually remember all that much…”

{You seem fine now,} Saint-Sabina thinks. {Is it because you’re in my body?}

“Must be,” Sabina-Saint agrees. “Your body’s like, squeaky clean. Have you ever even done drugs, bruh?”

{Don’t change the subject,} Saint-Sabina thinks, with the slightest aura of reprimand.

Sabina-Saint scowls at him. But because she has now reached the waiting Angels it comes across as Saint scowling at Bosley 342 …

“What is it?” Bosley asks with confused concern. Bosley glances towards where Mel and Huiqing have finally reached their fallen comrades and are checking the tranqed Angels over.

“Oh crap,” mutters Sabina-Saint to herself. She has just remembered that the tranquiliser gun must be lying where it dropped at Sakura’s feet. What’s to stop Mel or Huiqing from tranqing Spider Monkey, all cute and helpless up the tree? Er … her body, that is. Her body the spider monkey! Whatever, dude. This shit is confusing … the important thing is to protect the monkey!!

“Don’t tranq the monkey!” Sabina-Saint shouts out, loud enough for everyone to hear. Even across the clearing. Mel and Huiqing snap to attention, and stare back at her curiously. “She’ll die,” says Sabina-Saint, unable to think of a more convincing reason in the heat of the moment. Hey, that’s pretty damn convincing, as far as she’s concerned …

Mel and Huiqing stare at her. Then they shrug at each other, and each heft a fallen Angel over their shoulders, fireman carry style. The tranquiliser gun is strapped onto Huiqing’s back. Mel and Huiqing start hiking back towards the main group, bringing tranqed-Olawumi and tranqed-Sakura along with them … and nobody shoots the monkey. Sabina-Saint sighs in utter relief: (latest) crisis averted! In their head, Saint-Sabina sighs in relief too …

“That’s a risk,” agrees Bosley as Sabina-Saint ducks behind the van to stand next to Bosley. “But it’s far from a sure thing.”

“I beg to differ.” Sabina-Saint folds her arms and pout-scowls. “She’s hopped up on werewolf drugs. It’s a fucking OD waiting to happen!”

“We already tranqed her once,” says Jane, giving Sabina-Saint the strangest look. “And she shook it off in under ten minutes.”

“Didn’t anyone bring you up to speed?” mutters Bosley irritatedly. Saint-Sabina feels a surge of concern as he gets a good look at Bosley’s two black eyes. He reaches out for a better look … unthinkingly he seizes control of his body. Or, he finds himself back in the driver’s seat: he didn’t exactly intend for it to happen …

Suddenly his reaching hand arrests in mid-air, and freezes. He stares down at it.

{You look like an imbecile,} Sabina-Saint advises him, mentally. The laughter is clear even in her thoughts.

“Take it back then!” Saint-Sabina gripes. “You know I didn’t mean to do that.”

“Say what?” Bosley stares at him. Jane and Elena are staring too, as well they might.

Sabina-Saint pops back into the driver’s seat and her hand drops by her side, where it hangs awkwardly. Geez Louise, get a grip, grifter - remember you’re an award-winning con-artist! Surely there is something she can say to fix this faux pas …

“Something, something,” mumbles Sabina-Saint, which is the worst recovery Saint-Sabina can ever remember seeing his Angel make. Just terrible.

{Are you sure you’re not drug-affected?} he thinks to ask her. His mental eyebrows are in his mental hairline.

“Of course I am, you tool,” mutters Sabina-Saint. “On some level, obviously. How else could this,” she gestures expressively at their chest, “be happening?”

“Oh fuck,” Bosley’s eyebrows are in her hairline too. “We’re compromised!” She shouts this so that the extended team can hear.

Sabina-Saint glares at her mentor. Fuck Bosley’s spidey sense! Trust Bos to figure this shit out, and so damn fast too …

{Just give me back control,} thinks Saint-Sabina reasonably. {I’ll talk to Rebekah.}

Sabina-Saint rolls her physical eyes and is still rolling her mental eyes as she hands back control.

Saint-Sabina turns to explain themselves only to be met by something hard to the back of his head.

The last thing he sees is Bosley’s wide blue eyes, then everything goes dark …

… ?’s POV

… Sabina opens her eyes, and she doesn’t know where she is, what she is, who she is. It’s all darkness, silence, nothingness …

Gradually-suddenly the closest ‘who’ snaps back into place. Sabina Wilson. Regular fuckup turned wild child Angel. Doting girlfriend of two hot mamas. Saint’s bro. Protégé of Bosley 342 … fucking Bos!

Bos knocked me/him out! complains Sabina into the mental void that’s everywhere. She can’t hear herself think … yet she still knows that she’s thinking. Oh, so this must be what happens when the body/consciousness she’s riding is knocked out …

Fuck me, she grumbles.

She wonders what would happen if she was in somebody as they died …

Focus, Wilson! she snaps at … herself. Deal with that when it happens, if it fucking happens.

Yeah, yeah, Wilson’s right. Sabina has more than enough on her plate right now. She’s in limbo? Well, to be accurate, she has Not. One. Clue. where the hell she is. She’s terrified.

Suddenly the closest ‘what’ snaps back into place, atop the ‘who’. Ohhhhhh … she’s a human, that’s what! Not an empty nowhere place. She growls and stiffens her claw-fingers. Maybe she can Vega-leap right out of this hell hole …

Suddenly the closest ‘where’ snaps back into place, atop the ‘what’. She’s in the clearing; no she is The Motherfucking Clearing …

… The Clearing’s? POV

… This is fucking impossible. Only not. Because … clearly.

The consciousness who up until now has been referred to as Sabina Wilson has just become a clearing in a forest. Or … joined with a clearing? Merged inside the pre-existing clearing? Possessed the body/consciousness of the clearing? Been possessed by it?!

What the total fuck is the correct terminology in this (fucked up) situation? She doesn’t even have any pronouns!

As the clearing, she is simultaneously aware of a megaton of data. She is:

-the ground beneath Saint’s unconscious body
-the dust underneath Jane’s stiletto heel
-the log that Mel has just tripped over, unceremoniously spilling tranqed-Sakura onto the
-dead leaves Sakura now lies on under the
-trees that wave gently in the
-breeze that blows gently in the
-trees, including the tree that holds Sabina’s original body (Alert: OHS hazard!)
-the road that should really have more
-streetlamps in order to not be an OHS hazard leading to
-the crumpled up sportscar that her original body first came here in

Sabina sighs and it mingles with the breeze; it is the breeze.

She flies, and now she is the sky in and over the trees. The sky is vaster than what she could ever have imagined was possible. She is vaster; she is sky. She smiles and it’s so vast that it includes all the Angels who ever were, all their Bosley and Saints, all their (two?) Charlies, and even all their bad guys (because what’s an Angel without a Demon?) and …

… Sabina sends love.

Chapter Text

Bosley’s POV

“Jane!” Bosley gasps, half-relieved, half-upset. Jane has just acted as quickly as only Jane Kano can, efficiently cuffing Saint over the back of his head with her pistol butt. He drops like a log.

Bosley stares at her dear friend’s unconscious body in minor shock. Right … Saint is compromised. Bosley’s instincts had screamed bloody murder at her, and she just knows she is correct (she usually is). However, what she still isn’t sure about, is exactly how Saint is compromised …

“That was Sabina!” announces Elena, like it’s a revelation. Bosley blinks in shock. It is a goddamn revelation … to Bosley.

“Affirmative.” Jane’s dark eyes are stormy.

They turn as one to stare towards the tree where Sabina is holed up, nestled in the topmost branches. Right on cue, Sabina’s body drops. She falls towards the ground …

Bosley curses. She’s running, as fast as she can, heading for Sabina with desperation. Jane passes Bosley easily, and Elena sprints after Jane, also passing Bosley …

Sabina hits the ground long before they arrive. She lies there, motionless.

It’s about a twenty-foot drop, Bosley calculates mentally, breathing hard. That’s survivable. That’s survivable. That better fucking be survivable!

Bosley hears the Angels’ extended team crashing through the forest, also headed for the tree. The world has narrowed to pinpoint focus; her blackened eyes throb painfully …

When Bosley (finally) reaches Sabina, Jane is already huddled over her girlfriend’s body alongside Elena. Then to Bosley’s ever growing shock, Sabina’s eyes snap open: bright and blank. Her pupils have not decreased in size: they’re huge. Sabina sits up smoothly, as though the night’s rigours haven’t happened. Elena and Jane scramble away from her, probably automatically.

Bosley backs up too, some latent survival instinct activated. She does it against her conscious will, fear flooding through her system. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit …

Sabina stands. As smoothly as she sat up. She looks right through them all, and then … gazes up at the sky. She stands stock still, gazing upward. Bosley looks up too, automatically. The forest canopy rustles quietly overhead, quivering in the light breeze. The full moon shines, big and beautiful. Stars twinkle. It’s a clear night; no clouds, so much sky revealed. Bosley blinks. Looks back at Sabina, questioningly.

“Bina…” Elena’s voice is fragile. She half-steps forward, then steps back again … as though thinking better of it. The other Angels and Bosleys have reached the scene now, and crowd around in a semi-circle, a little way back from Bosley 342 and her Angels. Everyone watches Sabina cautiously. Several of the Angels have weapons drawn with Sabina in their sights.

“Sabina.” Jane’s voice is low, pleading. “Look at us.”

Sabina does. Bosley thinks that her agent looks … otherworldly. Sabina’s pale and dirty face is shining in the moonlight, her short hair standing every which way. There is dried blood on her chin and some bruising visible at her hairline. No expression animates her eyes – her pupils are so wide that their distinctive green can no longer be seen …

“Sabina,” Saint murmurs, catching Bosley by the hand. She throws her co-lead a startled look, then slips a supportive arm around his waist. Saint looks like shit. Bosley didn’t even hear him approach the group; Jane must have pulled her pistol whip for him to be awake so soon. Bosley feels relieved.

“You were Sabina,” says Elena to Saint, faintly wondering, looking at Saint before gazing back at their unresponsive teammate.

“Yes,” confirms Saint. He shakes his head a little then rubs it with his free hand. “I mean, no … she was in my body.”

“I thought so,” murmurs Jane. “She did a crap job at hiding it.”

“In your body? That’s not possible,” gripes Bosley 369 from where the extended team are gawking nearby. His black beard quivers; his eyebrows are in his hairline.

“Nothing about tonight is possible,” says Bosley 342 wryly. “This drug is the shit!” She can feel her sense of humour returning. Thank God, because Bosley really needs it … she turns to address the entire assembly, turning Saint with her in the process. She raises her voice:

“C’mon, Angels. Time to bring this mission home! Let’s get the drugs and…” Bosley nods towards the silent Sabina, “…druggie, home.”

Murmuring voices as the Angels and Bosleys confer, then start to trickle back to their vehicles. Jane picks Sabina up because … of course Jane does. Sabina doesn’t visibly react: she just lets Jane move her - and Bosley lets out a sigh of relief, as does Elena. Maybe it would be more accurate to say Jane picked up Sabina’s body, because as far as Bosley can make out, Sabina isn’t home. Maybe Sabina’s crashing? Could this be a trough? Should Bosley be worried, scratch that, more worried than she already is? She’s lost her energy to worry though: she’s just too tired. Her head throbs, especially around her blackened eyes … she just wants to get back to base. Sleep for a fucking year. Sort this crazy shit out later!

Jane is cradling Sabina to her chest as she strides-stumbles towards the ambulance; Elena walks beside Jane, one hand nestled at the small of her girlfriend’s back. Bosley is concerned about Jane’s head wound (not to mention the aftereffects of … everything’s that happened) and is glad Elena is sticking close to Jane. Probably Jane should be lying down and keeping still … not bridal carrying her girlfriend to safety. Try telling Agent BAMF that though. Bosley doesn’t even bother: it isn’t worth the wasted effort.

Bosley flicks her eyes over Elena, her protective instincts surging temporarily even with the exhaustion. Elena Houghlin, as their (closest to) rookie and ‘team’s baby’ brings protectiveness out of Bosley easily … without even trying. Right now, Elena is probably the best off out of their team - though of course they’re all going to need to be checked out by medical, once they get back to HQ. They were in a motherfucking car crash! Oh God, the Jag is TOTalled. Charlie’s not going to be happy … Bosley starts to think up her justifying report about ‘how it was unavoidable’, then stops herself. She can plan that out later, when her head’s no longer aching. She doesn’t have to write the After Action Report immediately … Charlie won’t expect a debriefing while Bosley is in med bay. Besides, the report will end up more convincing, that way … Bosley will be smarter …

She sighs; Saint and herself trail their team. Bosley is still supporting Saint with one arm wrapped around his waist. He seems to be supporting her back, his arm wrapped around hers. Bosley tiredly throws her close friend-and-colleague a look that is equal parts concerned, relieved and caring. Maybe even a little wry … he glares at her.

“It wasn’t me that hit you, Daniel,” she tells him humorously, “it was ‘Special Agent Kano’. So don’t give me that glare.”

He continues glaring at her and leans a little harder against her side:

“Shut up, Rebekah. You made the call. I was going to talk it out with you – I’d just convinced Sabina to switch places.”

Bosley raises one eyebrow, fascinated:

“You were talking to Sabina … while she was in your body?”

“We talked quite a lot,” Saint tells her. “It was amazing … I felt her feelings for me.”

Bosley crinkles her nose, deliberately obtuse. This stirring opportunity is just too good to pass up …

“Wilson has feelings for you?”

“You know what I mean.” Saint swats her side affectionately. “It was beautiful, Bekah. I was so touched.”

In the face of Saint’s sincerity Bosley can’t help but turn sincere too. Maybe it’s her two black eyes and aching head. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s this disastrous mission that Bosley has already decided beats out that vaporiser shit-show for shittiest mission of her career. No contest.

“I love you, Danny.” She squeezes her friend’s waist a bit tighter.

He smiles at her so, so warmly:

“I love you too.” 

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Elena walks beside her girlfriends enroute to the Angels’ ambulance: a slightly stumbling Jane who is cradling a seemingly catatonic Sabina against her chest. Elena keeps one hand on Jane’s back, in case Jane needs some extra support, what with her obvious exhaustion and head injury from the car crash. This is the little she can do – that Jane will allow her to do. Elena can’t stop Jane from carrying Sabina, even though that probably isn’t the best idea … and Elena isn’t even sure that she wants to. There’s something right about the three-of-them being close together …

Elena is exhausted. Her throat hurts where Sabina throttled her during their getaway (she can’t believe that happened! Not to mention Sabina forcing-a-kiss on Jane!). Elena’s heart hurts more. This mission sucked. She just wants to go home and snuggle into their bed’s mountain-of-pillows, nestled between her two favourite people in the world. She knows that that’s not going to happen … not for a while. They have to make it back to HQ first and get checked out in med bay … at the very least. If not go through debriefing … although hopefully that can wait. Elena wishes she could go straight home with both her girlfriends …

Mid-way to the ambulance Elena catches sight of Yolanda Riverson leaning against the side of her white Ferrari. Yolanda is standing but swaying a little in place. Her bloodied nose looks broken: liberal bruising spreads over her nose and cheeks. She’s not so elegant now. Elena leaves Jane’s side without even being aware that she’s done so. She strides over to Yolanda, and she is angry, very angry! Elena stops a few feet away without regard to Yolanda’s personal space. She looks into the older woman’s once-beautiful face:

“What’s the drug for?”

Elena’s voice is ominously quiet. The question is sharp, loaded – the flavour of a gun pointed at Yolanda’s head. Out of the corner of her eye Elena sees Jane halt, staring at them with an unreadable expression. Sabina lolls in Jane’s arms: not unconscious but not conscious either. Sabina’s eyes are open but they’re not seeing; her distinctive energy? lifeforce? presence? is absent. Elena can’t feel her girlfriend. She can’t ever remember feeling Sabina’s absence before: not even when Sabina’s been asleep in their bed, not even when she’s been unconscious in the med unit. Elena didn’t even realise that she’s able to sense Sabina’s whatever-it-is, until it was gone …

Yolanda blinks at Elena owlishly. The expression in her eyes is indecipherable. Then, kind of unexpectedly – since Elena was by no means sure that this would work, just desperate – Yolanda answers:

“To enhance natural aptitude. Whatever a person’s greatest gift is, it makes it … more.”

Bosley and Saint have stopped nearby, both watching warily. Elena senses that the other Angels and Bosleys might also be close, perhaps circling into strategic positions. However she can’t pull her accusing eyes away from Yolanda, in order to check …

“Our intel says people are basically going ‘werewolf’,” says Bosley 342 coldly. “That’s hardly gifted.”

Yolanda rolls her eyes, and Elena is momentarily surprised: they are such a pale green.

“That’s just unfortunate unwanted side effects,” Yolanda bites out morosely. “We’re still … in development.”

“But you needed to test the drug,” guesses Saint soberly. “So you released it to the public, anyway.”

“Lab rats,” says Yolanda, dismissively. “We’re getting closer though.” Her gaze goes to Sabina in Jane’s arms: it seems reflective. “From what I saw tonight … something big went down. I’d say Briar is the breakthrough.” Her voice goes breathy for a moment, transfixed. “Transcendence…”

“Transcend my ass!” snaps Elena. She wants to punch Yolanda, but she doesn’t want to get her fist bloody. Besides, Yolanda’s face is smashed up pretty bad. Elena can’t help feeling sorry for the woman, and that makes her angry. She is not sorry for this bitch!

“Agent Briar possessed his body,” Bosley informs Yolanda, nodding towards Saint.

Elena feels her mouth drop. She closes it quickly, not wanting to give away Bosley’s game … which she picks up on after a few seconds of confusion. Jane sways a little, looking like she might pass out at any moment. Elena goes to her girlfriend hurriedly. She places gentle hands on Jane’s arms, directing Jane without words to lay Sabina down at their feet. Jane does so, far too compliantly for Elena’s liking …

“Really.” Yolanda sounds fascinated. She even reminds Elena of herself (No Yolanda does not! No Yolanda does not!), when she’s slipping into what Sabina calls her geeky-scientist mode. Yolanda even takes a hesitant step towards Saint, eyes bright with curiosity. Going ‘full scientist’, Elena guesses. Yolanda may have forgotten that they are on opposing sides …

“What was it like?” Yolanda’s voice is rabid with scientific curiosity.

“Uh,” Saint eyes Yolanda uncomfortably. His dark eyes go to Bosley in question; she nods firmly. Elena knows that it’s because this is an unmissable opportunity for the Angels to pump Yolanda Riverson for intel that could crack this mission wide open, not to mention, help Sabina. It’s what Elena’s been attempting to bait Yolanda into via scientific interchange. This is it …. Saint shrugs a little and turns back to Yolanda.

“Strange. I could … think at her, and she could … hear me. It took us a while to click to that. I could feel her emotions and she could feel mine. I could … read her intentions, see from her point of view. She saw from mine, too.”

“Point of view…” muses Yolanda, eyes glazing over. Saint nods:

“Yes. Sab…ummm Briar, was in control of my body, but I took it back at one point, and she let me. And …” he trails off, thinking hard.

“Yes?” Yolanda’s voice is positively enraptured.

“Briar said that she couldn’t do the, er … ‘psychic shit’ with the others. That it might be because I’m more … ‘sensitive’.” He glances uncomfortably back to Bosley. “I take that to mean that she, uh … possessed some of you too.”

Elena closes her eyes. What?! Did Sabina get into her body at some point, without Elena even noticing? But … how could that be? Surely, she would have noticed the presence of her baby …

Yolanda is mumbling to herself, crazy-scientist mode fully activated. Elena stands up and addresses the club owner, forcing herself to sound like a (fellow) ‘passionate scientist’ approaching a eureka moment. Elena doesn’t have to reach very far for this role …

“What are you thinking?” she asks Yolanda. “What’s the gift?!” The ploy works! Yolanda doesn’t even blink before she replies:

“I’m guessing social awareness, from the EI quadrant.* Briar’s a ‘master grifter’, correct?” Yolanda smirks. “It so happens that’s something of my line of work, too: I made her pretty fast. Well … maybe we made each other.” She pouts seductively (which looks kind of strange, what with the broken nose), then flashes a derisive look Bosley’s way. “You Angels think you’re so smart…”

She knows who we are, thinks Elena, even as she is scrambling to get Yolanda back on the geekery track. It’s kind of … shocking. Yet not, given that Yolanda had pursued them in her unusually-armoured sportscar complete with henchman and submachine gun …

“Why social awareness?” asks Elena, even though she already agrees with Yolanda: her mind is racing forward at breakneck pace. Elena’s looking at-and-for, the possible and multiple implications of Yolanda’s claim … fascinating implications …

“It sounds like she body-hopped through quite a few of you,” muses Yolanda, “and from ‘Namaste’s’ account,” a derisive wink towards Saint (distracted for a moment, Elena eyes Saint’s collection of bangles and guru-style ‘Jesus-wear’ … ‘Namaste’ totally suits him), “she had gained more control by the time she got to him.”

“Namaste…” snickers Bosley, completely unprofessionally. The she catches herself and appears to be attempting to ‘look serious’. Which looks very strange due to her two black eyes. Yet Elena doesn’t blame Bosley. It’s funny and Bosley’s fresh off a car crash … Bosley can’t resist …

 Namaste … er, Saint, frowns at them all.

“Because they could exchange mental and emotional data?” postulates Elena.

“Yes,” says Yolanda, “Or maybe Namaste really is more sensitive … in some way. However, the main gist of this power seems to be that Briar could see the world from others’ points of view. Which is essentially what social awareness is: you insightfully place yourself in others’ shoes and help or hurt them with those insights. Essential in grifting.”

“Right,” agrees Elena. “But how does that translate to … body-hopping?”

“It’s a natural extension, expansion, whatever,” argues Yolanda, eyes alight with professional zeal. “It was Briar’s consciousness, I would posit, not her body. And that’s exactly what happens in social awareness … on a lesser scale.”

“Your consciousness takes the shape of other people’s mental landscapes,” says Elena, voice slowing down as her thinking speeds up. “You make a shape of them, in your mind … and socially aware individuals make an accurate shape.”

“Correct.” Yolanda gestures excitedly. “Socially unaware individuals make an inaccurate shape or even … no shape at all.”

“And then,” picks up Elena, “the socially skilled individual acts on their correct data - and reaps the reward.”

“So!” Yolanda is tapping her chin. “The drug must have released Briar’s consciousness from the confines of her body. It took the shape of other people’s points of views, by entering their bodies and gathering intel from their senses, thoughts, and feelings.” She nods to herself.

Elena nods too. “Their inner world.”

“What a breakthrough!” declares Yolanda, throwing her hands up with delight. “We’ll have to refine it of course, get rid of the nasty side-effects, help the user gain more control…” Yolanda seems to have temporarily forgotten that Elena is not one of her actual scientific colleagues (or scientific henchpeople?), and that she’s surrounded by enemy spies. Ah, the hazards of having a geek-mode …

Elena nods faster. “So what’s happened to Briar? Now, I mean.”

Yolanda’s eyes snap to where Sabina lies limply on the ground at Jane and Elena’s feet, staring at nothing. She’s clearly some version of catatonic …

“Ah yes … unfortunate, that. The … end result.” Yolanda sniffs. “Whatever it may be.”

“Can it be reversed?” presses Elena. She hopes that she is managing to keep the personal urgency out of her voice: to sound ‘professionally invested’.

Yolanda crosses her arms over her chest and taps her foot. She looks like she is thinking hard. It’s kind of impressive that she’s either so, 1) distracted by Science or, 2) tough, that the broken nose isn’t affecting her thinking. Elena feels begrudgingly admiring … despite herself …

“Well, what caused it?” Yolanda focuses back on Elena. “First, we have to isolate the cause. We should backtrack.”

“Naturally,” agrees Elena. “It happened after Briar … fell out of the tree.”

“I saw.” Yolanda smirks. “Why she ran up a tree, I’ll never know … I suppose it’s another side-effect…”

“Right before she fell,” reveals Elena, “she was in possession of…” Elena clears her throat and throws Saint an apologetic look, “Namaste.”

“Oh?” Yolanda looks intrigued. “Tell me exactly what happened, right before she fell.”

“Ah…” Elena shoots Jane an apologetic look. Her girlfriend’s face could not be more expressionless: Jane’s giving Sabina a run for her money. “This agent knocked Namaste out.”

“‘Amazon’ here?” Yolanda throws Jane a derisive glance. Elena doesn’t really understand what the derision is about: they don’t even know each other. Elena clears her throat again:

“Yes.”

Yolanda stares off into the middle distance and Elena feels her own eyes glazing as she does the same. What. Could. It. Be … oh! Ohhhhhh!

“What?!” Yolanda presses Elena excitedly. Bosley, Saint and Jane are staring at her too. Elena realises belatedly that she said that out loud …

“Shewasknockedout!” Elena tells Yolanda so fast that she stumbles over the words. “Shewasknockedout!”

“BriarwasinNamaste’sbodywhenhelostconsciousness!” Yolanda says, stumbling over her words, just as much. “OhmyGod!”

“It’s because her … ‘vehicle’ crashed!” Elena gasps, reaching for the nearest convenient analogy to move their scientific understanding forward. “That must have been … shocking …”

“Agreed.” Yolanda chews her lip. “Like the … ‘blue screen of death’ on a computer, shall we say. Fatal system error; consciousness crashes.”

“Yes!” squeals Elena. God, that analogy was perfect. Much better than hers. Elena approves of Yolanda’s scientism, yes she does! “And then she fell out of the tree.”

“Yes!” Yolanda’s energy matches Elena’s: their enemy-ship lies forgotten in pursuit of Science. Hot on the heels of an Impending Solution …. “But…” Yolanda slows down, draws in a considering breath. “The subject would have … started rebooting, one would think. Eventually.”

Yolanda referring to Sabina as ‘the subject’ is enough to snap Elena out of her geek trance. She can’t help but curl her lip at Yolanda. Fortunately, the woman is still too engrossed-in-science to notice. Elena glances to her team; Bosley gives her an encouraging nod and makes eyes that indicate ‘keep pumping her!’ Saint gives Elena an approving smile. Jane just looks expressionless.

“So … when she rebooted, where did her consciousness go?” Yolanda is gazing into the middle distance again.

“One of … us?” wonders Elena. She looks at Jane in reflex. Jane practically matches Sabina for ‘unresponsive stupor’ just now. Could that be a sign that Sabina is psychically linked to Jane?

Jane looks at Elena and raises one sardonic brow … like she knows exactly what Elena is thinking. Elena blushes and looks away hurriedly …

Okaaaaaay. Not Janey then. What was Elena thinking! Jane is expressionless routinely. Especially when in urgent mission mode …

“So why hasn’t she … made contact then?” argues Yolanda. “No, no, it must be different than the standard body-hopping parameters, when your ‘ride’ crashes.”

“We don’t know what the standard parameters are!” says Elena, feeling a bit desperate. She glances into Sabina’s blank gaze and looks away just as fast. Nobody is looking back …

“Calm down, Yoko,” Yolanda makes a shushing gesture at Elena with both hands. “You’ll scare the science. We can just put a question mark there, for now. Like algebra.”

“‘Yoko?!’” mouths Bosley amusedly to Saint; Elena pouts at them. Saint sees Elena looking and gives her a covert thumbs up, mouthing:

“Just go with it.” Elena sucks it up. She keeps pushing the science, readdresses Yolanda:

“So we’re hypothesising that there’s a key difference when a … s-subject’s ride crashes. They can’t body-hop into other people … at least not right away…”

“Maybe not at all!” Yolanda starts gesturing frantically at no one in particular. “Maybe consciousness goes into the void … or something like that!”

“‘The void?!’” mouths Bosley in sarcastic disbelief. Yolanda appears to hear Bosley this time, and glares at her contemptuously.

“Where do you think that a consciousness goes during deep sleep or when knocked unconscious?” Yolanda bites out. “Timbuktu?” Yolanda turns back to Elena, obviously dismissing Bosley out of hand. Bosley looks stunned, which is something Elena doesn’t get to see very much … she struggles not to smirk. Refocuses on Yolanda.

“We’ll call it ‘the void’,” Yolanda is telling Elena, “as a working title.”

“So Briar went into the void…” says Elena. “And then?”

“Well,” muses Yolanda, “people eventually wake up from deep sleep. And unconsciousness. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Like rebooting a computer,” murmurs Elena, neck-deep in fascination. “It’s just like when you reboot a computer.”

“Yes,” says Yolanda smiling at her. “That’s it, Yoko. I’m sure that’s what it is…”

“So even the void must reboot back into a consciousness,” says Elena, not minding being called Yoko, in This Exciting Moment. “The consciousness entered the void! Lagged. Eventually rebooted into…”

“…The waking world,” Yolanda cuts in. “Or … the dreamworld. Those are the options.”

“It’s either waking, dreaming or sleeping, aka the void,” says Elena. “The three states of human experiencing. And since Briar doesn’t appear to have re-entered the waking world by possessing one of us … or her original body…”

“…She must be in the dreamworld!” finishes Yolanda, glancing at Sabina’s body assessingly. “Makes sense!”

“No it doesn’t,” mouths Bosley to Saint, not so quietly that they can’t all hear her. Bosley makes quote marks with her fingers, and in this moment reminds Elena strongly of Sabina: “‘Dreamworld?!’”

Elena stares (obviously) at Bosley. Could Bosley be Sabina?! No, no, they’ve already ruled out Sabina’s consciousness being in the waking world. Besides, Bosley and Sabina share that weird sense of humour …

“I’m not Briar!” Bosley tells Elena, glaring. Oh God, is Elena really that obvious? She blushes and looks away hurriedly …

“What constitutes the dreamworld in this scenario?” Yolanda is musing. To Elena’s ear, the woman sounds a bit like she’s recording notes into a tape recorder app. For experimental progress. Or for scientific posterity. Yolanda glances at Sabina again. “Catatonia? Is the subject in some kind of coma-like-state more so than whatever state her body was in while she body-hopped into other people, in the waking world?”

“It’s another question mark,” admits Elena, feeling a little depressed. They don’t know what state Sabina’s body was in during the initial people-jumps …

“Chin up, Yoko!” Yolanda orders. “Focus on what we do know. We’ll inference our way forward from there.”

Elena nods bravely. Then catches herself. What? She’s being cheered up and scientifically mentored by ‘the villain of the piece’? Embarrassing! She decides to do science to distract herself …

“The dreamworld could be…” Elena’s eyes dart all around, hunting for ideas, “maybe, some form of consciousness that is … less awake … than human consciousness.”

“Great postulation!” Yolanda nods. “Like say, an animal. Or even … a plant.”

Elena heads towards the armoured van where her team had been standing when ‘Saint-Sabina’ had been knocked unconscious.

“We were standing here,” Elena calls to Yolanda who trots excitedly after her.

They search the ground together.

“No animals,” says Yolanda.

“No plants,” says Elena. “Just … dirt.”

“I can’t believe this,” mutters Bosley, who has followed them over with Saint in tow. Jane has come along, and gently deposits Sabina out of her cradling arms and onto the ground again. The other Angels and Bosleys are on the scene too, staying back somewhat, but Elena is too distracted to pay more attention to whatever their extended team is up to …

“It’s not just dirt,” says Yolanda reflectively. “It’s filled with the basic building blocks of life itself.”

They all stare at the dirt which bears a very faint impression of where Saint faceplanted.

“You’re saying that … Briar is … dirt?” asks Bosley, incredulity not hidden.

If Sabina was here, thinks Elena, she would jump all over that comedy setup!

“Of course not!” Yolanda scoffs haughtily. Then she pauses, seems less haughty. “Probably.”

“Could the dirt actually hold her consciousness?” wonders Elena, staring very hard at said dirt. She’s never looked at dirt so closely before. It helps her see that it’s not as consistently formed and monotone as she had assumed. There are different sizes of particles and different kinds of material grains. Elena remembers vaguely that dirt is formed out of not only minerals but also organic matter: living things and their decaying remains. Life and death mixed up together …

Yolanda scoots one (elegant) high heel over the dirt thoughtfully. A pebble rolls to the side where it lies next to some of its pebble friends. Elena sees that there are a few tufts of grass growing quite close by. Also a few … oh gross! drops of blood.

Elena’s eyes widen so wide that it actually hurts.

“What?!” demands Yolanda, voice high pitched.

“It’s not just dirt!” Elena gasps, then laughs with joy. “There’s an ecosystem here! The whole…” she gestures frantically, searching for an apt term, “shebang! The dirt needs and supports the grass and other plants and trees which need it, and it’s the same deal with the air and all its constituting elements, and the…” Elena trails off and looks up at the moon, “sky…”

“What?!” presses Yolanda, flushed with enthusiasm. “Yoko! Keep going!”

“She looked up at the sky,” mutters Jane, sounding dazed. “For ages. When she fell out of the tree…”

“When her body fell!” Elena tells Yolanda, bringing her co-scientist up to speed. “The subject looked up at the sky. Before we ordered it, er her, to look at us!”

“Ohhhhhh!” Yolanda huffs out in wonder. “Briar’s in the sky!”

They all look up as one.

“No, she isn’t,” mutters Bosley. “C’mon, this shit can’t possibly hold water…”

“Not just the sky!” says Elena. “She’s in the ecosystem. The er…” she glances around wildly. “Forest? The … clearing maybe? I don’t know how far her consciousness could or would expand, extend. Surely it would … dissipate if it went … too far?”

“And disappear?” wonders Jane. Her dark eyes are wide.

“Become … nothing?” wonders Saint.

“Become everything!” guesses Yolanda.

“Did I accidentally take some of the werewolf drug?” wonders Bosley, seeming to be speaking to herself. She turns to Saint. “Maybe I have a concussion…”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Saint tells Bosley gently, his own face wide-open with wonder. “Sabina’s in the sky!”

“Who’s Sabina?” That’s Yolanda. “Belay that, it’s not important. Let’s get back to the subject: She’s. In. The. Sky.”

“The ecosystem!” corrects Elena.

“All of it,” confirms Yolanda.

“Everywhere and nowhere,” says Saint, dreamily.

“I have a concussion,” says Bosley mournfully. “I’m hallucinating.”

“What do we do?” snaps Jane. She is standing straight now, practically vibrating with power. Ready to act; on the edge of action! Elena looks at her girlfriend with mild surprise. How does her baby do that?

“Don’t look at me,” says Yolanda to Jane. “This is all highly theoretical.”

“NO!” yells Elena. Everyone’s eyes snap to her. “We’re running this experiment.”

“We are?” Yolanda sounds very surprised. “Surely we should gather more data first…”

“We have a viable subject,” snaps Elena, gesturing angrily at Sabina’s empty? body. Elena needs Yolanda’s expert help … she has to convince the woman! “We have our prototype. Here we are at ground zero. We can’t afford to waste this opportunity.”

“You’re right, Yoko.” Yolanda nods to herself, then straightens. She looks all-in now; inspired. Yolanda gazes around the clearing reflectively. “So how do we redirect the subject’s consciousness from the … ecosystem and back into her … original body? Assuming our theory is correct.”

“We have to attract it,” Elena decides, forcing herself to stay in heavy-science mode, and not to think or feel beyond that. Sabina needs her to geek out harder than she ever has before! Elena can’t be girlfriendly just now. She has to be Angel-only: the genius genus of Angel. Elena can do this! She will fucking get this done, so help her! Elena looks at Yolanda pressingly. “We need to get its attention, somehow.”

They all look at Sabina’s inert body, empty stare.

“Have you tried this?” asks Yolanda, unexpectedly kneeling by Sabina, and clicking her fingers in Sabina’s face, loudly. Elena feels very angry. Before she knows what she’s doing she’s yanking Yolanda backwards, away from Sabina’s defenceless body …

“Didn’t work,” says Jane coolly. Nobody seems surprised.

“Hands off, Yoko!” says Yolanda. She shakes herself free from Elena; Elena lets go. “You know the rules. No avenue unexplored. Every option has to be ruled out, one by one.”

“It’s how they discovered the lightbulb,” mutters Bosley wryly.

“The lightbulb…” mutters Elena, taking a step back. There’s something in that … it makes her think of the natural lights that must have inspired the lightbulb’s creation: the sun, the stars, the moon. In the sky. Elena whirls to face her team. “How do you talk to the sky?”

“Sweet Jesus,” says Bosley. “You’re also high!”

“Drum to it?” guesses Saint. He sounds serious. “Some ancient tribes worshipped the sun and moon and forest. They would communicate via ritual – drumming, dancing, things like that.”

“Yell into it?” Jane shrugs. “As loud as you can?”

“Shoot up a flare,” says Yolanda. “Or maybe … smoke-writing via plane?”

“Climb a tree?” guesses Jane. “So that you’re closer.”

“You don’t have to be higher,” corrects Yolanda. “The sky is everywhere. It’s the space that’s all around us that we don’t normally even see.”

Saint tries waving his hands around:

“Sabina? Are you there?” He looks a bit like a windmill.

“Everyone’s high,” says Bosley in obvious disbelief. “Everyone but me.”

“Offer up a song or a prayer?” That’s Saint again; he’s stopped waving his arms. “That’s what those ancient rituals were very often comprised of.”

“Sabina,” says Elena urgently, prayerfully, looking up at the sky and deliberately folding her hands. She’s never been more heartfelt. She doesn’t care (or even remember) that the others are watching her or that she’s giving the game away to Yolanda. She only cares about getting her baby back … any way that’s possible, by whatever means necessary. “Baby, can you hear me? We need you to come back … I need you. Please come here, Bina. Please.” Wet eyed, Elena finds herself looking to the others for help …

Bosley is goggle-eyed; Yolanda’s brows are in her hairline. Saint is serious, serene. He has folded his hands too, prayerfully, and is looking up into the sky.

Jane gives Elena a very long, very unreadable look. Then Jane looks up too:

“Oi, Sabina! Get over here, NOW!”

It shouldn’t work. There’s no way that it should be enough. It’s not scientific. It may or may not be a prayer … though it’s almost certainly an invocation. It’s implausible, to the extreme. Even impossible. All that noted, it must be a goddamn miracle (Is there any other kind?).

“I don’t wanna get up yet.” This from Sabina, voice all raspy. She’s still lying on the ground, but she just spoke. One hand comes up to rub at her eyes a little, in a gesture Elena has seen from sleepy-Sabina, a thousand times …

… Elena is frozen in shock.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” That’s Bosley. She sounds aghast.

“Sabina!” Jane is on the ground in one smooth motion, pulling Sabina into her lap and cuddling their girlfriend close. Jane is laughing and crying all at once, helplessly.

“Janey,” says Sabina softly, snuggling into Jane happily-if-confusedly. “You okay, babe?”

“Bina!” Elena unfreezes and throws herself at her girlfriends. They don’t catch her; the three of them sprawl in the dirt together, and Elena is trying to hug them both at once, and they are trying to hug her back, and it’s a mess of arms and legs and tears and laughter.

Prayers really do get answered.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

Jane sits bolt upright in bed, shaking and dripping sweat. A nightmare, she ascertains, quickly and calmly. She lies back down, shivering. Her girlfriends are still asleep; most of the time they sleep through Jane’s nightmares. Jane would dearly like to keep it that way.

Sabina is in the middle tonight, arms folded over her chest like Dracula while snoring up a storm. Sabina looks so funny when she sleeps this way; she refuses to believe Jane and Elena when they tease her about this semi-regular occurrence. The snoring is rare though … and Jane is uncharacteristically glad to hear it. It means Sabina’s definitely asleep. Jane turns into Sabina and wraps one slightly shaking arm over her girlfriend’s waist, purely for her own comfort. Sabina won’t wake up; she sleeps like the dead …

… Elena however, might, so Jane is careful not to touch her other girlfriend by accident. Just now Elena is facing away from them both, her back snuggled up against Sabina’s other side.

The heat of Sabina’s skin starts to warm Jane’s coolness up. Sabina’s temperature runs hot and Jane’s cool. Elena is a mid-point, somewhere in between … as she is in so many ways. Jane worries at her shaking bottom lip, trying to get a grip. She feels … unsettled. Silent tears cascade down her cheeks …

“Janey,” comes Elena’s voice in the dark, very soft, tender. “Do you want me to keep pretending to be asleep?”

Jane feels torn. Elena’s woken after all: Jane wishes that she hadn’t. Jane is grateful for the way in which Elena phrased her offer, and especially grateful that Elena isn’t looking at her. It makes it far easier for Jane to say a gruff one word, “yes”, if she chooses to deal with this on her own.

Jane is also angry-ashamed that Elena knows about this … weakness, whether or not Elena pretends to have slept through it. Jane doesn’t know why, and she feels bad about it … but sometimes Elena Houghlin’s soft compassion is a nightmare in and of itself. It has the power to make Jane hurt! So. Much. At other (rare) times, Jane falls into her girlfriend and breaks apart, and it feels so good, so damn relieving. Akin to dying and being reborn. Jane can’t tell which time will be which, until they actually happen. Elena is incredibly patient with her, which is also something Jane loves – and hates – about her girlfriend. It makes Jane feel … something. Whatever that something is, she doesn’t want to feel it. Sometimes being with Elena, (accidentally) forces Jane to feel it …

It can be so much easier with Sabina, who is tough and crass and humourous on the surface … for all that she’s gooey underneath. Jane can push Sabina, and Sabina will push back, even escalate. Yet that’s also the challenge of relating with Sabina: sometimes the two-of-them go up in flames (accidentally) and everything is fallout …

“No,” Jane finally answers. She sighs, long and resigned. Jane doesn’t need Elena to keep pretending to be asleep. Elena turns over immediately. She wraps a loose arm around Sabina, and rests her head on Sabina’s shoulder, gazing at Jane with gentle eyes. Elena doesn’t try to touch Jane, though her arm now rests just above where Jane is also holding Sabina’s waist.

“Nightmare?” guesses Elena.

“Uh-huh.” Jane sighs tiredly. She scrubs her face clean of tears, a tad angrily. Thank God that the tears have stopped. “The fourth one this week,” Jane adds. It’s only Tuesday.

“I heard you last night too,” admits Elena in a soft voice. “It sounded bad.”

Jane eyes her girlfriend pointedly wondering why Elena didn’t mention this until now. Elena holds her gaze - Jane lowers hers, crestfallen. She knows why.

“What’s it about?” asks Elena, so, so gently. Jane shrugs. Sabina snores. The snoring is oddly comforting. Jane sighs again.

“‘#MissionDisaster2’ of course,” Jane admits wryly. “I don’t even have to make anything up. I just dream about what actually went down.”

“Which parts?” presses Elena and Jane narrows her eyes. Elena is too good at this. Jane doesn’t trust it: isn’t that strange? Someone loves her and is kind and insightful … yet (when Jane feels too vulnerable) they feel like an enemy. That can’t be a healthy reaction: Jane must be screwy …

Jane recalls bitterly when Saint informed her in therapy (hesitantly) that she probably has a ‘dismissive avoidant attachment style’ when it comes to intimate relationships. Jane had not liked hearing that intel (seemed pointless). Saint had wryly informed her that Jane’s opinion and feelings on the topic, were in keeping with that attachment style. Jane had enjoyed glowering at him until he shut up about it.

Elena supposedly has a ‘secure attachment style’ which Jane had had mixed feelings about, upon hearing this claim. Saint had encouraged Jane that this was a very good thing indeed and that she and Sabina (who apparently has an even more fucked-up insecure attachment style than Jane … ‘fearful-something?’) should follow their girlfriend’s lead. Saint’s professional opinion was that Elena could serve as a highly positive influence (just by being the way she is) and could help both Jane and Sabina, how did he put it? ‘Learn to trust in love’. Jane rolls her eyes at the memory, which makes her spine prickle uncomfortably …

Oh, it’s not that Jane disagrees with Saint’s assessment. He’s the expert at therapy just like Jane is expert in weapons. She respects an expert opinion when she respects the expert involved, as she does with Saint … as much as she respects any of the Saints (they’re something of a … necessary evil. For Charlie’s Angels). It’s more that Jane feels so goddamn uncomfortable when vulnerability comes up, in whatever form. It doesn’t really matter that she agrees with Saint, intellectually (and she does, somewhat … though she’s mostly put Saint’s claims out of mind). It’s still nightmarishly difficult to be around Elena’s hearts-and-flowers ‘securely attached style’ at times of vulnerability: to be cared for, listened to, seen, understood … and coaxed out of hiding. Jane likes hiding!

Not to mention on some deep, dark and mostly unadmitted to level, Jane absolutely craves what Elena gives her, like air in a chokehold. And that is (somehow) even more terrifying than being in a (literal) chokehold.

Jane would (often) much rather beat her knuckles bloody on a punching bag then sit down and have an emotional chat in which she has to open up about the very same pain that causes her to punch the bag. Regardless, Jane’s getting better at opening up; their triad certainly provides plenty of practice, and Elena is a great role model without even trying.

Jane loves Elena and Sabina, so she’s forcibly muscled herself through vulnerability whenever it’s been absolutely necessary. But it’s hard, so hard. Jane’s pretty sure that it’s harder for her than it is for even Sabina, though sometimes she’s not sure …

“Honey?” prompts Elena. Jane realises she’s said nothing for a long time. God, Elena has the patience of a saint. Unlike Jane who can be irritation personified.

“Y’know…” Jane clenches Sabina’s overlarge sleep t-shirt in her fist: it’s grounding. Jane struggles internally for a moment, and then admits: “in the car.”

Elena’s eyes widen. Jane sees that Elena understands in an instant what Jane means. When Sabina forced Jane to engage sexually. Not the crazy fighting. Not the gun battle. Not the car crash. The worst by far — from where Jane’s standing — was losing her vaunted control when Sabina pulled Jane in towards her with an iron hold, when Jane didn’t want to come. It was being kissed against her will … and having to bite Sabina’s tongue to get away from her girlfriend. Once Jane unfroze enough to act …

It doesn’t bother Jane that she’s cuddling up to Sabina now, in the waking world. Jane can tell that her snoring girlfriend is a very far creature from the ‘werewolf’ variety on both common-sense and gut-instinctive levels: Jane Kano trusts her gut. Yet in her dreams Jane is back there; it’s all happening again, and she forgets that the waking world exists. It’s a nightmare.

“It was awful,” agrees Elena bleakly. “I couldn’t believe it, Janey. I tried to get her off you…” Elena trails off, no doubt remembering That Night. Jane is remembering too.

“She was too strong for both of us,” Jane says, voice clipped. “You were tugging at her with all your strength … but it did nothing much.”

“She didn’t even feel it,” agrees Elena. “Sabina was gone.”

“I bit her tongue,” says Jane. “I don’t think she would have stopped … otherwise. But I don’t think I could have done … even that, if you hadn’t leapt into the backseat, Lena. I was…” Jane squirms in shame-filled discomfort, “frozen.”*

“Frozen in fear,” Elena tells Jane. “I would have been too, if it was me.” Her arm finally moves down to linger against Jane’s own, skin barely grazing skin, both of them still holding Sabina.

Some of Jane’s discomfort eases. Yes, that’s it, no need to be so hard on herself. The Angels have previously talked at length about how strong the Fight/Flight/Freeze autonomic response can be, during their #MissionReplaster personal project. You can’t go against it sometimes. It literally takes control of the body - and does whatever it thinks is necessary for survival. Logical thinking goes offline … the body takes over …

“She tried to punch me,” Jane remembers, easily able to pick up the memory mixed with recent nightmare. It’s right there. For some reason it feels right to talk about it, to retell the story. Jane needs to talk it through …. “I ducked, mostly,” Jane remembers. Elena laughs a little; it sounds strange.

“I pulled her hair.” Elena’s voice is half-disbelieving. “As hard as I could.”

“It was a good move,” says Strategist-Jane approvingly. “You got her attention.”

“Then she started choking me…” Elena’s voice peters out. Jane sees that tears have started flowing down Elena’s cheeks. Unlike Jane, Elena doesn’t hold tears in or pretend not to be crying. She makes pitiful little whimpers and starts to cry in earnest. Jane’s heart cracks painfully. She places her arm over Elena’s, supportively.

For some reason supporting Elena’s vulnerability is much, much easier for Jane than being supported in her own. It even helps her to be more vulnerable, herself, which is such a paradox …

“I was terrified,” admits Jane. Her voice is husky. She realises suddenly that she didn’t endure this experience alone. Elena had been there: she’d suffered too. Bosley had been there, watching helplessly in the rearview as she drove the Angels’ getaway car, while under heavy fire. Hell, even Sabina had been there, drugged out of her mind … but there, with them. As a team. They were on that supremely fucked up mission, together.

“I tried to pull Sabina off you,” Jane went on, remembering her own attempted ‘sleepy-neck-button’ hold from behind Sabina - trying desperately to line up the correct positioning to knock Sabina out. To get leverage …. “It was … h-hard. I’m sorry. I just couldn’t get the right angle.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Elena clutches at Jane’s arm. Her sudden tears have slowed, mostly stopped. “It was an impossible situation! You couldn’t get leverage, I know that: we were being thrown about all over the place!” Elena’s voice turns mildly humourous. “Not to mention, beat on by WolfWoman.”

Jane shakes her head morosely, in disagreement. She should have succeeded. No question! Elena’s life had been in danger …

“Do you want me to be sorry that I wasn’t strong enough to pull Sabina off you?” practically growls Elena. That gets Jane’s attention. She furrows her brow.

“No, of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“Well, it’s the same thing,” huffs Elena, sounding exasperated. “Aren’t you supposed to be intelligent?”

Jane blinks, stunned. She’s not offended at the insult. Jane’s legitimately stunned: why hasn’t she made that connection before? It is, indeed, obvious. Elena nods, satisfied, obviously seeing Jane’s concession by her flabbergasted expression. They pause for a long moment.

“I thought I was going to die,” Elena finally goes on. “I really thought that.”

“Oh God, Lena.” Jane’s eyes tear up. “I can’t believe you thought that.”

“Don’t you think it’s realistic?” asks Elena, voice small. Jane laughs a bit: sharp.

“Oh, it’s realistic. What I mean is, uh … it’s … terrible to imagine you feeling that way. I was too mission-focused to be … feeling.” Elena nods slowly, sniffling:

“You’re good at that, sweetie.” Jane shrugs self-deprecatingly:

“I know.”

“Bos probably saved my life,” husks Elena. “I think she spun the Jag deliberately.”

Jane nods slowly; it’s likely. The 180-degree spin had flung the Angels apart, thankfully getting Elena out of Sabina’s chokehold … and unfortunately, Sabina out of Jane’s.

“Bos is talented,” grins Elena through new tears. “Like situationally aware, physics informed, good at speeding …” Jane laughs shortly, appreciatively. She agrees.

“We should talk to Bosley about this,” Jane decides aloud. “At some point. Check how she’s … holding up, what it was like for her.”

“What?” Elena’s voice is teasing. “You’re suggesting we initiate an emotional chat? Voluntarily?”

“Shut up,” Jane returns gruffly-affectionately. She is feeling better now, much more relaxed. The nightmare’s tension has drained out of her body, maybe into their combined touch, maybe into Elena’s tears, maybe even into Jane’s …

Sabina lets out a particularly loud snore and makes a cute little lip-smacking noise. She’s still asleep. Still in that ridiculous (and cute) Dracula posture.

“Let’s go to sleep,” says Jane, and then rather hesitantly, certainly awkwardly, she blows Elena a kiss across Sabina’s body. The megawatt smile she receives from Elena, makes Jane’s twinge of discomfort, worth it.

So worth it.

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

“I am not having sex with you!” Jane’s voice is harsh.

Sabina pouts sulkily as she follows her irate girlfriend down the hall at Angels’ HQ. It’s mid-morning; they are headed for the training room to engage in some much craved-for (by Sabina) sparring. Three months have passed since the fateful night when Sabina became ‘the sky’ (or so folks say; she has no clue about any of it). Most of their team’s extensive injury roster has healed up, and what lingers is at the stage where practice fighting is not contraindicated.

Sabina has been going crazy (it feels like, anyway) waiting for Jane to be signed off on by Saint to spar with her again. The two-of-them used to ‘spar together more than any other Angels on record’ … or at least that’s what Sabina’s been teased about, on the regular, by her extended Angels’ friends and acquaintances. Sabina doesn’t know that anyone dares to rub it in Jane’s face: Jane Kano seems to repel teasing from most people, like oil repels water. Sabina and Elena are obviously an exception to this rule … since they can-and-do get away with teasing Jane. As do (more cautiously and much more rarely) Bosley and Saint.

Back before Sabina officially got together with Jane and Elena, there had been a lot of dirty innuendo made by a lot of Angels, on the sparring topic. Sabina remembers one time with her good friend (and fellow grifter) Mandy Rainer, chilling out at a niche bar. It had been before Sabina and Jane made it to the girlfriend stage … they were stuck in a ‘friends with tension’ holding pattern …

“So what’s up with you and Action Barbie?” Mandy had teased, flicking her shoulder length red hair behind her ears.

“We’re all Action Barbies, girlfriend,” Sabina had returned, pretending not to know what Mandy meant. Yet she knew exactly what Mandy meant, of course she did!

“Stoic Barbie, then.” Mandy had grinned, big. “Do you want Kano to punch you, right in the kisser? I saw you two today going at it in the ring.” The grin had widened. “I’d pay good money to stream that shit on Pornhub.”

“Shut up,” Sabina had groused, while downing a shot to comfort herself. She’d been feeling annoyed and confused and … insanely aroused by Jane Kano. For the longest time. Sabina had kept flirting, hard, but Jane had kept rebuffing her … or maybe it was more like, ignoring her. Did Jane not ‘like her like her’? Sabina could have sworn …

“Oh, poor baby.” Mandy had been merciless, which Sabina respected. After all, she would have been the same in Mandy’s position: this kind of opportunity was just too good to pass up! “You’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah,” Sabina had agreed morosely. “But I don’t think she wants what I’m putting out.”

“That’s bunk, Wilson,” Mandy had disagreed. “Kano eye-fucks you every time she punches you. It’s X-rated.”

“Yeah?” Sabina had asked this hopefully. It would be awesome! If it was true. Which Sabina didn’t know if it was, because obviously, Sabina has just been punched whenever said eye-fucking allegedly happens …. Mandy had grinned at her conspiratorially, and patted her on the back encouragingly:

“Yeah. You don’t got nothing to worry about on that front, Bina. Kano’s in your corner.”

Sabina blinks the memory away, a momentary stab of anguish in her heart. Mandy. Jane has turned to wait for her: Jane’s dark eyes are sharp.

“You okay?” Jane asks gruffly. Classic Jane for when she’s concerned for Sabina, yet simultaneously annoyed at her. Sabina can tell. Unlike back then, she now knows …

“Yeah,” Sabina mutters, scuffing her ankle-length combat boot on the concrete. A sudden memory of Elena enters Sabina’s head (weird …), gently reminding her to ‘use your words, honey’. Sabina looks up. “It’s just a M-Mandy memory,” she shares, almost as awkward as Jane is.

“Ah.” Jane looks down at her own knee-high combat boots. They both sport short skirts and crop tops today: an almost matching set. “Good memory?”

“Yeah,” says Sabina, “mostly.” Jane nods acknowledgement. She starts striding down the hall again, and Sabina trails behind, less filled with pep and more filled with … sudden doubt.

Sabina gets the strong impression that Jane is mad at her, maybe even really mad. Sabina totally hates that, like can’t think of anything worse. It’s okay when Jane is pissy; that can be stimulating … and besides, it’s like a part of their natural dynamic, yo. But ‘really mad’: that’s another story. She racks her brains for anything she did or said that led to this unfortunate state of affairs. As in Jane being pissy for real. Sabina comes up blank … which is what usually happens in such moments. She scowls at Jane’s retreating back; Sabina has petered to a halt.

Jane turns back and stares at her, half in confusion, half in challenge:

“What are you doing?”

“Are you … mad at me?” Sabina decides to bite the bullet. It’s better than wondering! Even if not by much. “Like really mad? You seem … really mad.” Jane rolls her eyes impatiently. Then she pauses. A strange look comes over her face. Hesitantly she admits:

“…Yes.” Jane sighs. “I’m … mad at you.”

“Oh.” Sabina blinks and does her best to not freak out. ‘Take a deep breath,’ a (strange … but well-timed) memory of Saint advises in her head: Sabina does so. ‘It’ll be okay, sweetie,’ says memory-Elena (whoa …) and it’s almost like her hand is stroking Sabina’s cheek, tenderly. ‘I’m allowed to be mad, Bina,’ says memory-Jane (oh!) much more gently than the real-and-present Jane would be capable of right now (Sabina suspects … and she’s probably right). ‘We can be mad at each other, and still be okay.’

“But I’m not mad,” Sabina tells Jane earnestly, and then blinks rapidly. Oh, she said that out loud, Sabina’s bad. She answered memory-Jane to real-life Jane …

“Well, I am,” snaps Jane, with another eye roll for good measure. She turns on her heel and strides into the training room.

Wrong thing to say, guesses Sabina morosely. Wrong thing to say, Wilson. She trails after Jane.

“So … why are you mad?” Sabina asks when she catches up to Jane by the fighting ring, trying her hand again. Fortunately, the training room is otherwise unoccupied: they are alone. Sabina very much doubts Jane would be up for having this out if they weren’t in private. She hopes Jane is up for talking: Sabina wants to resolve this, whatever the fuck it is! Get things back to girlfriendly-goodness …

Jane eyes Sabina as she starts wrapping her hands, efficiently. Sabina looks down and starts to wrap her own hands. Jane doesn’t do well when she’s stared at. It’s an instinctively submissive gesture on Sabina’s part, and it seems to work.

“Because I told you … I don’t want to have sex,” bites out Jane, sounding like she’s framing the words with effort, “and you keep pushing.”

“Oh…” Sabina stares down at her feet. When Jane puts it like that, it sounds bad. She gets why Jane is mad, now. Yet she doesn’t get why Jane hasn’t had sex with her since #MissionDisaster2 (as the Angels have taken to calling the ‘Werewolf’ fiasco). It doesn’t make sense, at least not to Sabina. The Angels have experienced plenty of ‘trauma-rife missions’ before … but that never got in the way of their sex drives and/or sex lives: if anything, it revved them up more! Sabina misses Jane sex-wise, big time …

Sabina misses the way Jane totally dominates her, like nobody else can. She misses the way Jane allows Sabina to top her: fucking her silly, and Jane loves it. Sabina misses their sweet-and-gentle sensual foreplay, their ‘wrestling’ matches, their raunchy make-out sessions to resolve conflict or just-because-they’re horny, and the way Jane awkwardly joins in with roleplays that Sabina and Elena co-create, as their supporting character. She misses Jane watching herself and Elena go at it, eyes burning. Sabina misses their threesomes of assorted delicious flavours.

She knows Elena misses the three-way sex between them too, that much is obvious. Yet Elena hasn’t said anything about its absence directly … and Sabina is sure the issue must be between Jane and herself (obviously, duh) because Sabina and Elena are still happily (very happily) going at it like rabbits. Business as usual on that front, thank God – Sabina doesn’t know what she’d do if both her girls froze her out at the same time! Maybe die of horniness … and/or loneliness …

“Sorry for pushing,” Sabina finally manages to get out, with effort. Elena has said (repeatedly) that Sabina should apologise when she truly thinks she’s done something wrong and regrets hurting them (and only then). So … this one fits that bill. Sabina feels hot shame, and she does her best not to curl in on herself. ‘Good job,’ says memory-Saint (hmm), which helps a lot. Sabina takes a breath at the helpful memory of Saint: she feels safe with him …

“Will you stop?” Jane wants to know, voice oddly strained. Sabina looks up. She doesn’t understand what’s going on; why is Jane this upset? For Jane to sound like this, she is way more upset than she looks on the surface … it’s costing Jane something to even ask this question. Sabina can tell …

“Yes,” says Sabina, sadly. “I’ll stop asking.”

They are silent together. It’s awkward as hell.

“Well,” Jane says eventually, awkwardly. “Let’s get on with it.” She hops up into the sparring ring. Sabina looks at the ring, at Jane. She is feeling very strange. She realises suddenly that it’s pain that she’s feeling. Emotional pain: masses of it. She wants to go and hide in a corner, cover her face, and cry. Sabina doesn’t want Jane to see this or know that she’s doing it. She doesn’t want anyone to know.

“Uh,” Sabina fumbles at her skirt a bit, looking down so that Jane can’t see her expression, wanting desperately to hide any-and-all of this (shameful) inner turmoil. She sucks a breath in harshly, and fights to regain control. Suddenly she remembers what Jane-Sabina did when she needed control (wow), and instinctively, Sabina copies. Memory-Jane nods approvingly (at least she’s on Sabina’s side). Concentrate, concentrate. Pull on the void. Go dark, get calm. Sabina raises her head, feeling cool, calm, and competent. Hey, that shit really works!

The real Jane is staring at her. With a very strange look on her face.

“Sorry, babe,” Sabina tells Jane, “let’s do it.” She hops up into the ring. Sabina has been wanting to spar with Jane again, desperately. This should be fun … right?

They circle each other. Jane calls the match’s start. Then Jane sucker punches her. It connects cleanly: Sabina didn’t even try to dodge. She rocks back into the ring’s ropes, half-stunned. Wow, she was not expecting that! She. Did. Not. See. That. Coming. Jane holds both hands up and steps back out of play. Essentially, it’s to give Sabina recovery time …

“What’s the deal, Sabina?” she asks, voice harsh. Sabina knows that Jane sounds like this when she’s feeling guilty. Jane’s range can often be ‘tones of harsh’. If you have a good ear, you can learn to tell them apart – they’re a lot more expressive than they seem at first hearing. Sabina has a good ear for such things – it’s part of grifting; it’s how she learns her marks’ tells and turns these against them. She also has a good ear for her girlfriends …

“Sorry, sorry,” Sabina rubs at her sore cheek. “I uhhh … guess I zoned?”

“Well, get your head in the game.” Jane rolls her eyes.

“Roger that.” Sabina focuses. Or she tries to. Although she feels cool and calm, it’s not all she feels. Deep underneath, she can dimly sense the whirling eddies of an impending emotional meltdown. The cool and calm is like a frozen lake, and the eddies are like what’s really down there, at the lake’s murky bottom. There be monsters down there! Jane frowns at her and Sabina recognises minute flashes of irritation, concern, confusion in Jane’s subtly expressive eyes.

“Okaylet’sgo!” Sabina whips out, thinking that if she goes fast, maybe this showdown will go down the sooner. Suddenly, she wants this fight to be over, fast! She is no longer looking forward to fighting Jane. She is looking forward to finding a safe-feeling hidey-hole (but she can’t tell Jane that … it would be humiliating). Fighting Jane is an obstacle between here and where-she’d-rather-be. Sabina pushes herself up off the ropes. Jane nods and beckons Sabina to ‘come at her’. Sabina charges …

Jane kicks out and Sabina grabs Jane’s leg and twists it to the side: a martial arts move. But Jane is somehow landing a glancing punch across Sabina’s jaw at the same time. It’s enough to make Sabina stagger back. She ducks hurriedly as Jane comes at her again, and manages to elbow slam Jane, hard. Jane tries a sweeping round kick and Sabina clears it, just. Her head is pounding, her heart is beating fast. Sabina wonders how she could ever have found fighting arousing: for some unknown reason she only feels terrified. She wants this shit to be over, now!

Jane backhands her, and Sabina goes with it, allowing the blow to slam her back into the ropes. She knows Jane pulled her punch: all their blows have been pulled so far, in fine sparring style. But yech, if Jane doesn’t punch hard, even so. It’s impressive; it always has been. Jane is advancing on Sabina, fire in her eyes, fire that Sabina usually associates with sexual desire and chemistry and power exchange and the unique charge between them. Now she just feels fear.

“Stop!” Sabina puts both hands up in surrender and leans back against the ropes, to get further away from Jane. She’s hoping she’s called it in time. She has. Jane stops, but only just, all up in Sabina’s space, huffing for breath, staring at her wildly. Jane backs off quickly, taking a few quick hops in reverse.

“What the hell?” growls Jane. “Why didn’t you use the signal?”

Sabina nods slowly, then shakes her head. She’s confused about that too …. It should be instinctive. Normally an Angel will either tap out to end a match or flash the special signal that means pause. The universal ‘don’t shoot me’ sign is not part of the equation. Sabina’s thinking is kind of muggy; her reflexes are not … at their best. Why isn’t Jane’s ‘void power’ working, for Sabina?

“Look dude,” Sabina says slowly, struggling to make sense of how she wants to handle this … strangeness, let alone to execute. “I’m not … feeling it.”

“You’re not ‘feeling it’?” Jane is heavily sarcastic.

“Sorry,” shrugs Sabina. “I gotta go.” She hops over the side of the ring before Jane can reply. Sabina doesn’t bother to unwrap her hands, instead she heads as quickly as can be considered a ‘professional exit’ towards the hall. Jane is calling something after her, but Sabina isn’t listening. She exits the training room.

She’s looking for an appropriate hidey-hole. It’s got to be somewhere that nobody will bother her or find her accidentally. Sabina eyes each supply closet she passes as she strides through HQ; maybe one of those? But Angels and Bosleys are everywhere … Sabina needs somewhere private. Nobody should see her enter or exit. She wonders about heading outside, maybe there’s a tree she can climb or something like that …

Sabina blinks dazedly as she’s spun around on a dime. Jane’s hand releases Sabina’s shoulder and her girlfriend stares down at her, disapprovingly. Or maybe it’s worriedly. Or both. Sabina lowers her eyes. She doesn’t know anymore; she doesn’t have energy to read Jane right now. She is holding it together, By. A. Fucking. Thread. How can she get out of this one?!

“Don’t walk out on me like that.” Jane’s voice is harsh with thinly disguised hurt … Sabina can tell that much. “You’ve been going on and on for months about how much you miss sparring with me, and once we get in the ring, you pussy out like that?” Jane glares. “That fight was pathetic.” Sabina deflates a little. It sure was.

“Look, Jane,” Sabina says raspily, studying her combat boots, and twisting her hands in her skirt to help with the not-fleeing-the-scene. “Something’s … up with me, okay? I have no clue what. But I … need to g-go and sort it out. It’s not you, it’s me.” Sabina nods a couple times, still staring at her boots. “I’ll get b-back to you … when I can. Okay?”

Awkward silence, awkward silence, more awkward silence. Suddenly Jane’s hand is on Sabina’s shoulder, gently this time.

“Okay,” says Jane (oh thank God!). “We’ll talk later, yeah?”

“Yeah,” agrees Sabina, voice husky with the tears that she won’t let herself shed. She turns and walks away, as fast as she reasonably can without it looking like power walking. Without it looking like she’s fleeing. She probably looks ridiculous … like a power-walking pussy fleeing the scene …

Sabina can feel Jane's eyes resting heavy on her back …

… Without needing to look back to see.

Chapter Text

Elena’s POV

Elena is pottering about in the kitchen when Jane comes striding in abruptly. Jane is out of breath and a little wild-eyed, and Elena drops what she is doing and goes to her girlfriend.

“Janey?” she wraps Jane up in what she suspects is a much-needed hug. It’s one of those (rarer) occasions when there’s no ‘don’t touch me’ micro signals coming from Jane’s direction – it’s the opposite. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Jane mumbles, hugging Elena back. “I need … your advice, Lena. Can we talk?”

“Of course, baby.” Elena always makes time for her girlfriends. If she’s not able to be there when they ask for it, then as soon as possible. She feels worried as she leads Jane outside to sit on their back deck. Some fresh air might be helpful. Elena takes the hammock, where she sits cross-legged. Jane takes an outdoor chair across from her. So Jane needs a bit of space, thinks Elena. She would prefer that they sit together in the hammock (and if Elena was the one who was agitated she’d prefer it even more!) but that’s just Elena. When Jane is agitated, she usually needs more space. The earlier hug must have been an anomaly …

It’s rare that Jane comes to Elena for personal advice … which is what Elena intuitively assumes this must be. Jane would hardly come to Elena (the team’s rookie) for professional advice. But personal advice? About her relationships and/or how those pertain to Jane? That’s much more likely. Elena kind of doubts that Jane goes to anyone else for such matters - she even keeps Saint at an arm’s distance. Jane doesn’t like to seem weak, and Elena has the (strong) feeling that Jane associates needing personal advice with ‘weakness’. Professional advice is a different story … Jane Kano does whatever it takes to be-the-best professionally and further her brawling career. Including getting advice and/or training from whomever may be useful …

“It’s Sabina,” Jane says abruptly, and Elena is not surprised.

In fact, Elena can even guess what this is all about: she’s been wondering when things would come to a head. She’s been patiently biding her time … and has even set up a few voluntary therapy sessions with Saint to double-check her own actions and get his support. Saint has agreed with Elena’s judgment call: Waiting Is Best. Her recalcitrant girlfriends will find their way through this dilemma, but it needs to be in their own natural timing. It needs to be driven by them. Elena shouldn’t interfere: she should only help if outright asked for help. That’s what will be most supportive, ultimately. For Jane-and-Sabina’s dyad … as well as for Elena’s triad.

“Of course it is,” jokes Elena, trying to set Jane more at ease. It works; Jane smirks at her.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s about Sabina, I know.” Jane rolls her eyes a little, then frowns. “I don’t mean it like that…”

“Yeah you do,” says Elena knowingly and comfortingly. “And it’s okay. Bina does take up a lot of RAM.”

Jane gives Elena the look that Elena (now) knows means she’s talking in Geek-ese.

“Ah … y’know, a computer’s short-term memory.” Elena blushes lightly. “Processing power for er, tasks that need to … happen right now.” Jane nods slowly.

“Yeah, like that. It’s never that … restful, around her.”

“That’s okay,” says Elena mildly. “We all have our strengths.” Sabina ‘wild child’ Wilson is a creature of chaos, after all (is she ever!) … and she stirs up chaos in her wake. Elena is fine with it. She even likes the excitement …

Jane favours Elena with an unreadable look. Sometimes Jane Kano can be a blank slate, even to Elena’s high relational EQ. Yet sometimes Jane’s an open book, so, so obvious (Jane would die if she realised that … fortunately she doesn’t seem to have a clue). This flips unexpectedly back and forth, and Elena has learned (the hard way) to just go with it. Jane has her strengths too. Elena waits for Jane …

Finally Jane admits – reluctantly – as though it’s being dragged out of her:

“I think I … upset her.”

“Oh honey,” says Elena with warm sympathy. Jane rolls her eyes at Elena … and though Elena knows it’s a coping mechanism for dealing with vulnerability, it still stings, just a little.

“Sorry,” Jane says quickly. She must have picked up on Elena’s hurt feelings: Elena feels touched. The sting disappears.

“What happened?” Elena asks her girlfriend gently. “I thought you two were going to spar today? Sabina’s been so excited.” Elena grins. “Like an overgrown puppy.”

“Yeah,” says Jane sardonically. “It’s been hard to be around.”

“I thought you liked it?” checks Elena. She knows Jane is often annoyed by Sabina (as are many, many other people) but Elena’s also seen the way Jane looks covertly pleased when Sabina raves on (the only way to describe it really) about the epicness of their past sparring battles. And how Jane puffs up, just a little – you have to be looking carefully to see it – when Sabina complains about how the other Angels can’t hold a candle to Jane’s fighting prowess and are ‘totally lame’ to spar with.

Sabina’s been cleared for sparring this past fortnight; Jane had a bit more physical (and emotional, though she won’t admit to that of course) healing to do, in the wake of their latest mission. Besides the many hits Jane took that night (brawling-style), her head injury from the car crash was a bit touch-and-go for a while. Saint’s been keeping a careful eye on her recovery …

Jane shrugs uncomfortably. Elena suspects Jane knows that she’s been caught out. Jane does like Sabina’s excitability … though she prefers to show her annoyance-of-the-same. Graciously, Elena changes the subject to help Jane get going again …

“So, did you two spar?”

“We started to,” says Jane. A strange look ripples over her face: Elena can’t read it. In its wake, Jane looks dejected. “It was … disappointing.”

“Oh,” says Elena, temporarily stumped. She hadn’t been expecting that. She feels bad for Jane … without knowing why exactly …

“I told her off,” Jane admits, a tad guiltily. “Before we started. About how she’s always pestering me for…” Jane trails off but Elena hears the unspoken word, loud and clear: sex. A pause.

“She doesn’t remember that night that well,” Elena reminds Jane, voice soft. “Just crazy flashes, here and there.”

Elena’s mind goes back to their team’s official debriefing session, the week after #MissionDisaster2 (when they were all finally in good enough shape to engage productively). They’d been in Saint’s cosy therapy room, all three of the Angels sitting on the couch against the wall, Jane (unusually) in the middle. Bosley and Saint had pulled up armchairs across from them. Saint had made them all a (disgusting) herbal tea concoction. This had rested on the coffee table in a teapot along with teacups, a water jug and glasses. Elena had just set her teacup back down hurriedly, after taking her first (gross!) sip …

“I know, I know,” Saint had told Elena, looking amused. “But it’s so good for bruising.” He’d gestured at the silver tray nearby. “Put some honey and lemon in it.”

“Put in a lot,” Bosley had warned. Dutifully Elena had started ladling honey into her teacup. She almost always follows Saint’s healing directives, to the tee. Out of this office’s other occupants, Elena is the only one who does so …

“Sabina, Jane,” Saint had said sternly. “You both have a lot more bruising than Elena. Get to it.” He’d gestured at the tea, glancing Bosley’s way, just as sternly. “You too.”

Bosley had made a grumbling noise. Her two black eyes were changing colour … but still looked pretty bad: currently they were yellow-green. Bosley had started pouring herself tea, with obvious reluctance. Jane had (just as reluctantly) followed suit. Sabina had groaned theatrically and done nothing.

“So what do you remember, Sabina?” Saint had asked her, apparently affecting not to notice.

Elena had turned to Sabina feeling her fascination spike, disgusting tea forgotten. She’d been curious too: so, so curious! Elena had been holding out for this debriefing to find out – Saint had thought it’d be better if they all talked about their memories together, the first time. Jane had only just recovered enough from her head knock to be included; they’d been waiting for her.

“Not much,” Sabina had said frankly. “It’s like … Picasso’s nightmare on crack. Just distorted glimpses of … fucking weird-ass shit ... insane, y’know? Makes me dizzy. I try not to think about it.” She’d shrugged and finally started pouring a cup of tea. Elena had watched as Sabina had squeezed as much lemon juice as tea into her cup … then poured what looked like half the remaining honeypot in too …

“Do you remember the car chase?” Jane had asked abruptly.

Bosley and Elena had looked at Jane knowingly, Saint with compassion. It was obvious to Elena that they all knew just why Jane was asking – Bosley and Elena from being present, and Saint from his therapy sessions with all of them. Sabina however, didn’t even glance at Jane. She seemed fully occupied with her tea. She was wiping her tongue with her sleeve repeatedly, spluttering in disgust.

“New record, Saintly,” Sabina had told Saint after a few more splutters. “Grossed out to the max! Like drinking lighter fluid.”

“The car chase!” Jane had prompted impatiently. Sabina’s eyes had flickered to Jane then, clearly surprised by Jane’s adamance …

“No, babe,” Sabina had said, looking confused. “There was a car chase?” She’d rolled her eyes then, self-deprecatingly. “I mean, of course there was a car chase. There’s always a fucking car chase! And that’s how Bos got…” Sabina had gestured towards Bosley’s black eyes, “and you got…” she’d gestured back towards the neat bandage affixed at Jane’s hairline. “So I hear.”

Jane had frowned and slumped back against the couch, crossing her arms in what (to Elena) looked partly to be self-comfort and partly resisting shoving Sabina. Elena had reached over to rest a consoling hand on Jane’s knee. Bosley had made a face at them that said something like, ‘that’s shit’, and Saint had sighed. Sabina had started pouring the remaining honey into her tea, completely oblivious …

Elena’s attention returns to the present, in which her hand tingles from wanting to be placed comfortingly on Jane’s knee. However, Jane is sitting too far away … and probably wouldn’t welcome touch right now, in any case.

“I know, I know,” says Jane, after a lengthy pause. Of course Jane knows Sabina doesn’t remember That Night. “But I … can’t talk to her about it.” Jane sighs. “Not yet, Lena. I … know you want me to.”

“I wouldn’t say want,” says Elena. “Just that, what else can we do, Janey? Bina doesn’t have a clue why you don’t want to have sex with her. How are you two going to … work through that, without … full mission intel?” Elena feels sad. “How are us three, going to work through it?” She brushes her hair behind her ear, a tad nervously. Gazes at Jane. “I miss us too, you know. All three of us, being together.”

Jane gazes back mournfully:

“I miss us too.”

Elena breathes out. Her heart twinges and it’s painful-and-warming, simultaneously. To her surprise and pleasure Jane is crossing to her - sitting down beside her in the hammock. They’re pressed together, knee-to-knee.

“I’m glad … we’re still … having sex,” Jane tells Elena, trademark awkwardly. Her voice is slightly stilted … yet sincere. “I don’t know what I’d … do if I … didn’t have you.” Elena smiles and lays her head on Jane’s shoulder. Her eyes are wet, but these are happy tears.

“Me too, baby,” she whispers. “Me too.”

Chapter Text

Saint’s POV

“Can I talk to you?”

Saint turns around, surprised. He is in the kitchen adjoining his therapy room, cutting up smoothie ingredients. Sabina is in the doorway; he wasn’t expecting to see her just now. Her next official check-up isn’t scheduled for a few days …

“Of course,” Saint tells his agent, sensing that something big is up. “Do you want a smoothie?”

“Fuck no,” says Sabina, voice jokey but eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, Bina,” says Saint. He opens his arms to her. She rushes in and hugs him fiercely. He hugs her back just as hard. He’d been hoping she would come to him, eventually. Open up in whatever way she needs to in order to heal from this latest mission disaster.

Saint can barely begin to process what happened, himself! And that’s with years of therapeutic training, plus regular professional supervision and personal counselling from other Saints (as per the Saints’ ethical code of conduct). He can only imagine what it might be like for Sabina, who was at ground zero of what was virtually a nuclear explosion … whether she can remember it consciously or not. Saint knows that memory doesn’t just get stored in the mind: it’s in the nervous system on a sub or unconscious level, and even in the cells of the body. He believes that Sabina must remember it all on some level … even if she never recovers conscious memories. As far as he’s concerned, that’s the nature of traumatic and otherwise intense experiencing …

It's also why Saint and Bosley (and Charlie too, from afar) keep such a close eye on their flagship team. They have no idea how the cumulative trauma load is affecting their star Angels … only that it must be. The most important thing (from where Saint’s standing) is to keep the Angels’ healing-and-recovery cycles happening concurrently, as much as Saint and Bosley can facilitate this. That’s Saint’s entire role as wellbeing officer, and a hefty part of Bosley’s, as ‘lieutenant’. The two-of-them support their Angels. That way the all-important field agents’ resilience stays strong, and the leaves that drop off (or are cut off) their metaphorical stems, can grow back, new and fresh. After winter, comes spring. The Angels can live to fight another day, so to speak – sometimes literally. Recover from any fallout, to face down a brand-new mission …

This is also most of why Charlie has allowed these three Angels to continue in their — highly unorthodox —polyamorous relationship. Saint has informed Charlie unequivocally that his Angels’ romantic-sexual triad is a source of support and personal growth that can’t be replicated in a lab … or delivered via smoothie. Though the Angels’ personal relationship takes place in large part off the field, it informs everything that happens on the field: these three live-and-die together. Much more so than the usual Angels’ teams-of-three … many of whom (understandably) become close friends. Charlie agrees, but with reservations. So Charlie, Bosley (who sides with Saint, yet puts some stock in Charlie’s reservations) and Saint remain watchful: this is uncharted territory! It’s not that various Angels haven’t gotten romantically and/or sexually involved before (as couples) … with mixed results (both on the same team, and not). There have even been a few isolated ‘professional incidents’ where Angels and Bosleys have formed attachments - considered incidents because of the power differential. Yet a personal group relationship is new … let alone one between an official team: it’s an X factor …

Sabina finally pulls back from their hug, sniffling up a storm. She’s knuckling back her tears as fast as they fall.

“Are you pretending not to cry?” Saint asks her humorously.

“Shut up, dude,” Sabina says, “yes.”

He can’t help chuckling and she joins him through her tears.

“Pull up a barstool,” he tells her, indicating the countertop. “I’m just going to finish making a ‘Mint Wedgie’. Are you sure you don’t want one?” The name of this particular smoothie was coined by Sabina one day when she protested to Saint that drinking it had … given her a wedgie. It’s stuck: everyone calls it that now. Saint doesn’t mind … he thinks it’s funny. Besides, if humourous insults help some of the Angels down the (admittedly an acquired taste) concoction, all the better. The Mint Wedgie is a ‘cool and calming – yet stinging – relaxant that freshens the soul and lances out any bad chi.’ That’s how Saint always describes it to his (reluctant yet captive) drinking audience …

“Oh, what the hell,” says Sabina. “Let’s lance my chi.” Saint grins and goes back to preparation. Meanwhile Sabina has hopped up on a barstool and is swinging her legs.

“I had a meltdown today,” she tells him conversationally, and Saint can’t help thinking how far his Angel has come, and the two of them have come. That Sabina can say this to him, so matter-of-factly; that’s she’s willing to come to him for help off her own bat. Despite her initial attempts (long ago) to avoid anything unpleasant at all costs … especially unpleasant feelings). Including therapy and/or the med unit and/or smoothies and/or admitting that anything was wrong. It’s taken a long time for them to get to this level of trust and emotional intimacy: Sabina can (and does) drop by Saint’s office casually – no mandatory therapy session needed to try and force-feed help to her. He’s so glad.

“Oh really?” Saint says just as conversationally. Then a tad jokingly, because he knows that ‘humourous casual’ is the communication style that works best with Sabina Wilson. Most of the time. “Do tell.”

“Me and Jane had a … bit of a tiff.” Sabina shudders a little, and Saint knows this is because Sabina hates conflict with her girlfriends, so much. That’s an aftereffect of her fearful avoidant attachment style: it’s to be expected. Saint knows Sabina knows this – he’s certainly reminded her often enough. But as Sabina often says, that doesn’t make it any easier (well, maybe a bit). It doesn’t allay the fear.

“About?” asks Saint, careful not to look at Sabina. She’ll do better if he stays occupied with smoothie preparation. It’s why he hasn’t sat down for an eye-to-eye and heart-to-heart with her, like he would with someone like Elena Houghlin. With Sabina, it would be a mistake … at least right now. It would feel too intense for just-off-a-meltdown Sabina: it would make her meltdown more.

“Sex,” says Sabina bluntly. “She wants me to stop … propositioning her.”

“You proposition her?” Saint gently teases. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sabina rolls hers.

“I try to. Like I’ve been trying to for the last three months, man. It’s so not working.”

“I see.” Saint pops the smoothie ingredients into his (state of the art) high powered blender. “One moment.” The room fills with the teeth-jarring grinding common to blenders everywhere, even state of the art ones that claim in their five-star reviews to be quiet. Sabina sticks her fingers in her ears, the tip of her tongue sticking out of her mouth endearingly.

Saint throws Sabina a quickly assessing glance: this particular noise can sometimes stir bad memories. Like the rock grinder she got stuck in (of all things!) during her first set-of-missions with Jane and (civilian) Elena. Saint and Sabina have even done exposure therapy together using the noise of the blender, to help her recover from that particular fallout. Saint decides that Sabina’s doing fine, and switches off the blender.

“So Jane doesn’t want to sleep with you,” Saint says conversationally, as though they’re discussing the weather.

“Yeah,” grumbles Sabina, scuffing one hand through her hairdo: today’s it’s spiked up in some kind of partial mohawk (maybe it started out as a full one?). “She could not be less into me. I’ve got no game at all.”

“It’s probably nothing to do with your game,” says Saint diplomatically. “You and Elena are fine, right?”

“Oh yeah,” Sabina nods enthusiastically. “We’re all systems go, all the time. Thank God, because I’m extra horny without my Jane and Three Amigos fixes.”

Saint nods understandingly: that makes sense. Especially for someone with Sabina’s high libido. He places a Mint Wedgie in front of Sabina, adds ice, and inserts a cute little (environmentally friendly) umbrella. Saint sits across from Sabina with his own smoothie, the countertop between them. He figures that she’s probably up for some face-to-face time: she seems more regulated than when she arrived …

“I’m masturbating like, all the time,” Sabina says mournfully. Saint doesn’t bat an eye. He’s Sabina-proof by now. In fact, it’s even refreshing. No filter means they can talk directly, fully, and with humourous creativity: Saint appreciates that both professionally and personally.

“Does it help?” Saint asks, sipping his smoothie contentedly. Ah, but that’s a good batch. Just the pick-me-up and clear-me-out he needed right now …

“Yes and no.” Sabina scuffs her hand through her hairdo again, agitatedly. It’s looking less like a mohawk and more like the leaning tower of Pisa. “It’s not the same, Saintly. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like jacking off as much as the next guy … but sex with Jane is Next. Level. And sex with both my babies is…” she trails off dreamily.

Saint smirks at her.

“Besides,” continues Sabina mournfully. “I miss-miss Jane, y’know? I mean sex isn’t just about sex, with my girls. It’s … so much more.”

Saint nods supportively. He knows.

“So … why doesn’t she want me, anymore?” Sabina’s voice trails off into hurt. She looks at her smoothie like it can provide the answers. Then she picks it up and takes a sip. Her face twists in an expression of revulsion.

“Oh, come on,” says Saint, a little put out. “It’s not that bad.”

“It is, bro, it is,” says Sabina, but he can tell she’s riding him. This is far from his most challenging-to-down smoothie creation …

“Have you asked Jane?” Saint asks Sabina. Because that’s just common sense; it’s not even therapy.

“Noooooo.” Sabina raises her shoulders and mock-cowers. Her voice turns serious. “I’m way too big a pussy for that. What if she…”

…“Says that she doesn’t want you?” guesses Saint, insightfully.

“Yeah,” says Sabina, and sighs. “I don’t want to hear that shit! Don’t think I could…” her voice cracks, “t-take it. I’d rather … not know.”

It’s Saint’s turn to sigh. He sometimes wonders how his three Angels ever get anything resolved, as girlfriends. At least Sabina Wilson and Jane Kano. Don’t those two know that relationships are built on communication? It’s practically a cliché; everyone knows that. He thought polyamory pushed communication even more than monogamy does: don’t they read the how-to guides?

Elena’s been for several voluntary therapy sessions about this very issue (even though it’s not directly about her – it still affects her, after all); Saint applauds her self-care and relationship maintenance. The other two are lucky to have Elena: yes, that’s his therapeutic opinion. Jane in contrast, has been for as few (mandatory) therapy sessions as she can get away with … and the ones she has attended have starred Jane in ultra-professional mode … and in Saint’s professional view, been a waste of both their time. If Saint had to rely on intel from Jane Kano about what’s going on, he would have less clue than Sabina! Meanwhile, Sabina has attended all her mandatory therapy sessions … somewhat grudgingly, but at least she’s trying. It’s clear to Saint that Sabina’s memories of #MissionDisaster2 are (currently) next to nada. Not useful for her current challenge with Jane …

“Do you remember anything?” Saint checks anyway, because suppressed memories can come back at unexpected times … and who really knows how ‘Werewolf’ works? The science specialist Angels have been studying the drug religiously in the lab and the only conclusions so far are:
-they don’t understand how it works, not really.
-it’s too dangerous to develop and should be scrapped.

There’s been some talk that the drug might have some kind of permanent effect on a user … especially one who achieved ‘emergence’, as Sabina did. Accordingly, everyone’s been keeping a close eye on Sabina, and she’s had more visits to HQ’s labs (to play subject to a battery of tests) than she’s had therapy sessions. She puts up with the testing with good humour, mixed with plenty of trash talking back-and-forth with the ‘Lab Angels’. Saint rather thinks that Sabina enjoys the attention and might even … be turned on by Angels in lab coats, doing medical procedures. He (wisely) doesn’t call her on it. Some things are need to know!

Sabina is looking surprised at Saint questioning her memories.

“Yo, why do you keep asking me that?” She holds her nose and takes another slurp of smoothie. Mimes gagging afterwards …. “I’ll be sure to tell you if anything … definitive emerges.”

“So something ‘non-definitive’ has emerged?” Saint asks patiently, well used to navigating Sabina-evasions. She rolls her eyes uncomfortably.

“Maybe? I mean, it’s shit-stew in there, bruh. If I stir it, everything just gets chunkier … and not in a good way.”

“You’re scared to look at your memories too closely,” Saint rephrases. His voice is very gentle. Sabina mock-glares at him, then shrugs in concession.

“Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’m a pussy; that’s established.”

“No, you’re not,” Saint returns gently. “You’re one of the most courageous people I know.” Sabina’s eyes flash to meet his – furtive, disbelieving, pleased, shy – then flash away.

“What’s your best guess?” Saint tries next. “For why Jane doesn’t want to have sex with you?” Sabina shrugs uncomfortably.

“Dunno. Ah, Jane and Elena are still banging, which is good, I guess. I mean … I’m not allowed to watch, anymore.” Sabina chews her lip grumpily. “But hey, it’s good that they’ve got each other. I don’t want them to be alone. Everyone should be getting some.” She folds her arms over her chest and pouts.

“So…” Saint decides to summarise the intel, since that can be helpful for helping Angels find their way forward. “Jane and Elena are still sleeping together. You and Elena are still sleeping together. You’re not sleeping together as a three, since Jane stopped wanting to sleep with you.”

“Yeah.” Sabina pouts sulkily, then just looks sad. “Yeah, that’s about right.” She chugs the rest of the smoothie in one go, as though it is a shot. Then she (rather desperately) grabs the glass of water Saint helpfully holds out to her, and chugs that too. He’s mildly amused.

“I’m pretty sure Elena wants us all to fuck it out together,” says Sabina, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, after she’s finished displaying her gag reflex a second time around. Saint knows Sabina isn’t really gagging; it’s all for show. “I want that too!” Sabina says with force. Saint clears his throat, and searches for clarity:

“You mean, you think Elena wants you to have sex as a … threesome to … fix things between you?”

“Fucking it out is most usually how Jane and me solve our shit…” reveals Sabina. Saint blinks. He … Did. Not. Know. That. Or need to know that! Okay, maybe he’s not entirely Sabina-proof … sometimes even Saint gets uncomfortable with Sabina’s raunchy sexuality – like a doting brother might, hearing about his baby sister’s latest conquest. He’s a man of the world … you have to be when you’re a Saint, but Sabina Wilson is the Angels’ wildest wild child …

“…as a twosome,” continues Sabina, seeming oblivious to his discomfort.

“Oh,” Saint says slowly. “Don’t you two … talk it out? Ever?”

“Well, yeah,” Sabina shifts restlessly. “Sometimes. Elena pushes for that, a lot … she’s a big fan of talk fests. But it’s damn hard to do … if she’s not there too. Jane and me are…” Sabina shifts again, “um, less good, at uh … saying shit.”

“Saying shit,” repeats Saint faintly. Then he recovers and adds with a note of teasing, “You two are good at fucking shit.” He smirks.

“And fucking shit up,” Sabina agrees, smirking back and tossing a wink into the mix.

“But not at saying shit,” Saint confirms. That’s the main point.

“Yeah, definitely not so good at talks fests.” Sabina shrugs. “That’s Elena’s specialty, like I said. Jane’s more like me.”

“Good at fucking shit?” Saint wonders, a tad humorously. Sabina grins.

“Well … maybe not like how I am.” Sabina laughs a little. Then her grin turns lascivious. “I mean, Kano’s a god in the sack, Saintly. Don’t get me wrong.”

“I won’t,” Saint mutters, disturbed all over again. “I did not need to know that.” Sabina continues, ignoring his protest.

“I mean, Jane’s like that with me, sexually, and with Lena. Not with, ah…” Sabina looks at the ceiling like she’s searching for inspiration …

“Others. She doesn’t flirt with everything that moves, like you do,” guesses Saint wryly.

“Yeah, that’s it!” Sabina isn’t offended at all. “Jane doesn’t flirt with anyone. Except us girls.” She deflates. “And she hasn’t flirted with me since Freaky Friday.” Sabina sighs. “No matter how much I flirt…”

“Your latest mission?” Saint’s head is whirling. It sometimes does that when Sabina gets like this: a bit manic, kind of off-track, charging on excitedly down her thought-tracks … headed God knows where. Saint provides a stabilising influence and helps Sabina reorient, but there’s only so much he can do. He takes a long calming swallow of his smoothie. Maybe he should make himself another one …

“So it must be because of Freaks’ Night!” decides Sabina, sitting up ramrod straight. She’s bursting with excitement.

“Must be,” Saint agrees, as dry as Bosley 342. About time!

He kind of can’t believe it’s taken Sabina three months to reach this conclusion. Sometimes she can be astoundingly oblivious. It’s endearing and irritating, rolled into one. Saint wishes he could just tell Sabina what he knows happened that night, courtesy of the intel gathered via his therapist role: clear her confusion. Yet that wouldn’t be right: Saint has an ethical responsibility to protect the therapeutic confidentiality of his other Angels and Bosley (and all his clients) in all important issues. Sometimes it’s a line call when it comes to revealing intel, but Saint (and his supervisor) are clear that that’s not the case here. So he’s had to wait for Sabina to figure it out on her own …

“Something happened…” muses Sabina. Her eyes flash to him, wild and eager. “You know what fucking happened. That’s why you keep asking me if I remember anything!” Saint blinks, nonplussed. Then he holds his hands up placatingly:

“I plead the fifth.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sabina mutters. “Doctor/patient confidentiality, and all that jazz.” Her voice rises, becomes heated. “Fucking hell, Saint, you’ve been listening to me drive myself crazy over this for months! Give a girl a break. Tell me what’s going on.”

“You know I can’t.” Saint’s voice is firm. “Don’t push me on this, Sabina.” She glares at him for a moment, then drops her eyes.

“Fine.” Sabina stews for a moment, then looks up to glower at him. “But I feel like a tool. I can’t believe it took me so long to figure this much out!”

“You were distracted,” Saint says comfortingly, even though he was just thinking along similar lines. “You’ve had … a lot on your plate.” Sabina rolls her eyes in self-deprecation.  

“I s’pose. I mean, it’s probably that I’ve been way too horny to think clearly.”

“Probably,” agrees Saint, back to dry.

“I’m going to have to talk it out with Jane,” Sabina decides gloomily. “Oh, fuck me sideways. I am not looking forward to that.”

“Is that really so bad?” Saint asks gently. “Jane loves you, Sabina. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Sabina avoids his eyes. Her hands are now twisting in the material of her skirt. “But I would literally rather get into a dentist’s chair and have my molars yanked out.” She appears in earnest.

“Graphic,” says Saint calmly.

Is talking things out with Jane really so scary to Sabina, to Jane, to them both? On one level Saint doesn’t really understand: he’s always been comfortable with deep and meaningfuls (and skilled at them too). It’s why he’s a Saint, after all: his vocation. On another, deeply empathic level, he feels great compassion for both his Angels. Saint understands that it’s because of the way their brains and nervous systems wired up to deal with their background conditioning and its various traumatic elements, that makes talking things out so hard for each of them … he would be the same in their shoes … anyone would …

“Oh well,” sighs Sabina, dropping her shoulders, and Saint senses that she’s reached a firm decision. “Can’t be helped.” Sabina nods to herself, clenching her jaw. “I’ll get on this mission, pronto.”

“Good luck, Bina,” Saint tells his Angel softly. “I’m sure you two will work this out together.” He nods at her firmly. “You always do.”

“I hope so,” mutters Sabina, not sounding so sure. “I fucking hope to God you’re right.” Saint smiles at her, soft and supportive, and delivers his next line with all possible conviction, knowing that it will help Sabina when she remembers it later:

“I’m always right.”

Chapter Text

Sabina’s POV

Next stop after getting Saint’s support: the lab. Sabina lurks outside the door, wondering if she should skip her late afternoon appointment. She has every intention of talking to Jane this evening … provided Jane will agree to a talk fest. It’s been such a big day: that pathetic attempt at sparring in the morning, hanging out in HQ’s most obscure armoury to rock and cry for lunchtime, an unofficial therapy session with Saint this afternoon. Maybe Sabina should wait on talking to Jane … no, no, no. She can’t wait; she’ll lose her fucking nerve!

“What’s up, Wilson?” It’s Olawumi Sani opening the lab door – she’s one of the science specialists.

Olawumi can handle herself on the field of course (just like Elena can, though she’s a tech specialist), but her #1 specialty is in the lab. Olawumi is on a regular Angels’ team with Sabina’s friend Sakura Kobayashi (a fellow grifter who has a co-specialty in tech) and a six-foot blonde brawler named Angie Helg whom Sabina doesn’t know that well (but knows is commonly Jane’s choice of sparring partner when Sabina’s not around). Sabina grins nervously at Olawumi and attempts to stick her hands into her pockets. It doesn’t work because her short skirt has no pockets: embarrassing! Sabina looks down and fidgets awkwardly.

For some strange reason, she feels uncomfortable around Olawumi since #MissionDisater2 … and she’s not sure why. Thus she’s avoided Olawumi (and Sakura for that matter) … which seemed like the simplest solution. Sabina’s been successful up until now, since that team-of-three has been out of the country running some mission. Looks like Olawumi’s back though, and on lab duty to boot; Sabina is having the worst day …

“Come in, Wilson,” says Olawumi, stepping back and giving Sabina a strange look. “Why’re you acting so weird? Is this about you tranqing me?” Olawumi rolls her eyes. “What happens on mission, stays on mission. You know that.”

“I tranqed you?” Sabina repeats faintly. She follows Olawumi inside the lab.

“Oh right, you don’t remember.” Olawumi gestures Sabina over towards the ‘subject chair’ in one corner. It resembles a dental chair but has about fifty more functions … and is way more comfortable. Sabina calls it ‘the rack’ but that’s just an off-colour joke: she actually enjoys (most of) these tests. The rack adds to the atmosphere. Olawumi continues: “So why are you acting like a freak?”

“I am a freak,” returns Sabina, rallying as best she can. “Don’tcha forget it.” Olawumi rolls her eyes with good humour:

“Noted.” She glances over a clipboard, then brings up a few screens on the wall computer in quick succession. “Let’s see. Hmm. You’re here to get the electrodes again…”

“Not the electrodes!” mock pleads Sabina like some kind of damsel-in-distress out of a 1950s vampire movie. “Anything but the electrodes!” She nails the impression, if she does say so herself …

“Come off it, babe,” Olawumi grins at Sabina conspiratorially. “You love the electrodes. Lab team all know it.” Sabina grins back, starting to feel better. Banter does that for her. God, Sabina loves banter. She’s in love with banter, even … it’s in love with her …

The lab door swings open, and Sabina and Olawumi turn in sync. Sabina feels surprised as Bosley 342 enters, Yolanda Riverson in tow.

“Just here to run a few tests,” Bosley says cheerfully. “Our resident snitch has some good ideas.”

The ‘resident snitch’ is Yolanda Riverson. After much negotiation, Yolanda had turned informant against her husband? ex-husband? Yakov to the Angels and relevant authorities … and secured a plea bargain. It turns out that Yakov Riverson is a much bigger Drug Lord cum Power Tripper than was previously believed (via Charlie’s intel), with other dark projects up his evil? sleeves. Yolanda, while also definitely of the bad guys’ variety, is apparently so much ‘about the science’ that she’s been relatively easily talked into using science for good … thus she’s benefiting Townsend Agency on multiple levels.

Sabina thinks that this development is ridiculous. Sure, she can’t remember much about That Night … but Sabina sure as fuck has a weird reaction to Yolanda’s proximity. It’s something like someone pressed a taser to the base of her spine and hit the highest charge. Sabina doesn’t know how to interpret it; so she doesn’t (avoid, suppress, avoid!). She just knows she doesn’t want to be anywhere near Yolanda … or to talk about the woman … or even think about her. It’s too much like being tasered. Sabina looks at the exit door, longingly.

“This is highly unorthodox…” says Olawumi. She sounds annoyed and like she’s trying to mask it. “The lab is booked.”

Yolanda smirks at them or more specifically, at Sabina:

“Hello ‘Briar’. Have you been avoiding me?”

“Yes,” bites out Sabina, flashing a ‘help me!’ glance at Bosley and then looking back at the exit, unable to stop herself from doing so. Sabina wishes she could muster the self-control to mask her growing agitation … but fears it’s as obvious as the nose on her face. She can feel Bosley staring at her. When Sabina finally meets Bosley’s eyes again Bosley makes the face that means, ‘report!’ but Sabina just shakes her head. She can’t do that while Yolanda is in the room! God, she can’t even look at Yolanda …

“Uh, you should go, Sabina,” decides Bosley, (finally) coming to Sabina’s rescue (thank fuck, thank fuck). “You’ve had a big day, I know.” Bosley knows no such thing; Sabina knows Bosley’s just helping an Angel out. Sabina is grateful, beyond grateful! “Postpone today’s tests,” Bosley tells Olawumi, a casual command. “Come and have a brainstorm with us in next door’s boardroom. Riverson really does have some great ideas…”

Sabina flees before anyone can change their mind … or put up a protest. She puts her head down and walks quickly out the door. Maybe Yolanda says something else to her … but Sabina can only hear a kind of buzzing noise. It thrums through her bones; it’s jarring to say the least. Once Sabina’s clear of The Danger she shoves everything ‘Yolanda Riverson’ out of her mind. Not. Going. There.

Outside HQ, Sabina hops on her motorcycle and guns the engine lovingly. Fuck, that’s better. ‘DykeBike’, as Sabina calls her motorbike (yes, it’s an inappropriately funny nod to the famous lesbian motorcycle club and their famous float at Pride parades: ‘Dykes on Bikes’) always gives Sabina just what she wants. Speed, warmth, plenty of thrilling ground-breaking action and ass-hugging curves. None of that “stop asking me” shit like Jane’s putting out. None of those sympathetic little looks from Elena that simultaneously comfort Sabina and grate on her nerves …

Sabina accelerates out of the parking lot, loudly. It’s damn fulfilling, just like it always is.

About 6pm, she pulls into her home’s driveway. The Angels don’t usually have dinner until later on; now could be a good time to talk shit out with Jane. Or maybe, over dinner? Sabina could suggest takeout, to make this easier. God, she’s sweating at the very thought of talking-to-Jane! This really is terrifying …

After DykeBike’s stowed safely in the garage, Sabina hesitantly makes her way to the loungeroom. She sees that Elena is doing a puzzle in the adjoining study with the door open, taking up half the floor and soon to be more. It’s one of those 50000-piece monsters that only crazy people do … okay, okay, that’s an exaggeration. It’s a big-ass puzzle, Sabina doesn’t actually know how many pieces it has. She knows Elena jumped up and down with excitement (literally) when it arrived by courier … and has been looking forward to doing it for ages.

Jane sits on the loungeroom couch playing Street Fighter on the tv, via their PlayStation. Sabina arches her eyebrows: she wants to play too! Maybe Sabina can put off talking to Jane in favour of beating Jane’s fine ass instead, Street Fighter style! It might even make Sabina feel better about her humiliating performance sparring today. While Jane is mostly superior in the ring (Sabina can admit it to herself, if not out loud to others’ listening), that superiority is flipped when it comes to Sabina’s favourite console game. Jane will be lucky to win one bout out of a match of three. Oh yeah!

Jane favours Sabina with a sardonic glance, then nods suggestively to the spot next to herself on the couch. Sabina gets the feeling that she’s being fully transparent right now to Jane’s keen eye. Oh well. Sabina very often is …

“You coming?” asks Jane.

“You betcha!” Sabina bounces over happily.

“Hi, Bina!” calls Elena from where she’s set up her Puzzle Kingdom. “I’ve already got a third done!”

“That’s great, baby,” calls back Sabina, “impressive!” It is. But not surprising; Elena’s fantastic at puzzles. Sabina sometimes jokes that Elena should sign up to compete on the famous reality tv show, ‘Survivor’. It’s big on puzzles and people skills: Sabina’s cutie-patootie would win for sure! Of course, Elena could never enter because reality tv fame doesn’t pair well with being a secret spy-type. Shame that.

Sabina grabs the PlayStation’s second control pad. Oh, screw it. Jane’s got the better control pad - the one that came with the PlayStation. Sabina’s got the plasticky replica where the buttons sometimes stick. Oh well, can’t be helped, she’ll rule the streets despite this setback. Sabina’s skill level is such that no crummy inferior control pad can stop her! She’ll take it as a challenge …

They select their characters. Jane goes for Chun-Li, which is an interesting selection. Jane Kano doesn’t play just one character (of course): she knows the moves of the whole roster (because, of course). Sabina privately thinks it’s just like Jane’s obsession with fighting moves: got to get them all. And/or Jane’s obsession with weapons: got to become an expert in them all. Sabina goes for Vega, her long-time fan-favourite: because she really craves a win right now. Sabina is best with this character … because she plays as him the most. Vega will crush any character Jane plays into the ground. No contest!

“Let my beauty intoxicate you!” Sabina declares in a poor imitation of Vega’s poncy voice: one of his trademark fighting taunts. Jane glances at Sabina with a quirked lip; yeah, she’s amused, Sabina just knows it …

“Yeah, yeah,” says Jane. “Shut up and play.”

Sabina does. The first bout goes to Vega. The second – surprisingly to Sabina – goes to Chun-Li. The third is fiercely underway and hotly contested when something strange happens. Vega is barrelling towards Chun-Li on their tv screen while pulling out (yet) another perfectly executed ‘Flying Barcelona Attack’ (one of his special attacks: all the characters have a few unique attacks along with their medley of typical fighting moves). Sabina feels her skin crawl. She looks down at her hands, now stilled on the console. Then she moves her fingers outwards into stiff claw-fingers …

Beside her Jane crows in victorious disbelief, still utterly focused on the screen. The bout has just ended with Chun-Li as the victor: Jane has won the contest, two matches out of three. Jane laughs aloud and throws down her control pad. Sabina lifts her claw-fingers up a little and turns them over.

“Claw-fingers…” Sabina mutters to herself. These are Vega’s fighting claws, that’s what they are. Not a claw-hand after all …

“Sabina…” Jane’s voice sounds worried, maybe even scared. This is surprising enough that it shakes Sabina out of her stupor. She looks up to meet Jane’s dark eyes with her own wide ones.

“What is it?” Elena has joined them, somehow picking up on the sudden tension.

Jane and Elena both look down at Sabina’s still stiffly outstretched fingers. Then look in tandem to the cut-scene paying on the tv. Vega is animated there, moaning, prone on his back while Chun-Li stands over him, making victory poses. Vega’s fighting claws are askew. The claws are his trademark weapon …

“Oh!” Jane turns back to Sabina with wide eyes. “You were … being Vega?”

Sabina blinks at her girlfriend dazedly, not exactly sure what Jane means. Elena gasps as she apparently catches on.

“He’s your favourite character,” Elena murmurs to Sabina. Elena looks at Jane and her voice rises excitedly. “I can’t believe we didn’t figure that out!”

“I thought she might be … pretending to be a werewolf,” says Jane, “or something weird like that.”

“This is much less freaky,” decides Elena happily. “She was just playing Street Fighter. Er, acting out Street Fighter.”

“Yeah,” says Sabina, making fists so that Vega’s claws disappear, and rubbing her now sweaty palms with her fingers. “Totally not freaky deaky.”

“You remember?” Jane checks with Sabina, voice tight.

“Not really,” says Sabina looking up at her girlfriends. “Kinda. Just then, it was like a ghost walked over my grave, or something.” She shudders as she recalls the eerie sensation. “I mean, I know why, now.” Sabina glares meaningfully at them. “Because of what you both just said. I’m sitting right here you know. I can hear you. I’m not fucking stupid.”

“We know! We know that, Bina.” Elena’s voice is hurried, reassuring. She plops down on the couch on Sabina’s other side and rests a hand on her knee. “Sorry for talking like you weren’t here.”

“Sorry,” agrees Jane, and it sounds sincere.

“We need to talk,” Sabina tells Jane, deciding off the cuff that this is the moment, if any moment is. Sabina keeps talking as fast as she can without tripping over the words, so that she can get it all out while she still has the nerve. “Whydon’tyouwanttohavesexwithmesincethatmission?”

Crickets. Elena’s hand flexes nervously against Sabina’s thigh. More crickets. After what seems like an age, Sabina (just) manages to make herself look at Jane. Just to see her girlfriend’s reaction – that will help Sabina figure out what to do next …

Jane is staring down at her lap.

“Did you catch that?” wonders Sabina aloud, squirming in place. She so doesn’t want to have to say it again.

“Yes,” says Jane shortly.

“Oh, good,” says Sabina, lamely. She grabs Elena’s hand where it rests on her thigh, and squeezes it, for her own reassurance. Elena lets out a pained little squeak. Whoops. Sabina forces herself to stop squeezing so damn hard …

More crickets.

“Maybe we should talk about this over dinner?” suggests Elena, weakly, uncertainly. “We could get … takeout?”

“No way, babe,” says Sabina fretfully. “I’ll vomit it everywhere, for sure.”

“Agreed,” says Jane. “I can’t eat anything just now.”

“Okay, okay,” agrees Elena, sounding a bit nauseous herself.

More crickets.

Eventually Jane sighs and scratches her neck. She finally mutters:

“This is … really hard to talk about. Like … almost impossible.”

Sabina holds her breath nervously, wondering if this is a precursor to Jane actually talking. God, she hopes so. Sabina can’t take much more of this shit! It’s like being on a particularly bad trip and not knowing how long the drug’s half-life is, and whether it’s likely to end anytime soon …

“When we were in the getaway car,” says Jane so, so quietly, “you uh, tried to um … ah, hmm.” Jane coughs a little, starts again. Sabina’s eyes are in her hairline; she still isn’t breathing. Sabina Did What. Exactly?! Whatever it was, it must have been terrible. Much worse than hitting Jane or Elena: she’s pretty sure she must have done that, at least a little. It just stands to reason from the intel about Werewolf’s effects. Besides, the strange-tastic memory-pieces Sabina sometimes experiences are often filled with violence: faceless voiceless extreme violence.

“Breathe, honey,” Elena reminds Sabina, and Sabina huffs in oxygen urgently. Oh, so much better.

“You too, Janey,” says Elena.

Jane takes a deep breath too. Then a couple more. Sabina sees that Jane is clenching the arm of the lounge so tightly that her knuckles are white. Sabina wants to reach over, stop Jane, take her girlfriend’s hand in hers. Lift it to Sabina’s lips in a cheesy-yet-romantic kiss. She just wants things to be good between them again. Sabina doesn’t reach for Jane’s hand: she knows that it would be a big mistake. She knows that much …

Jane begins again.

“You tr-tried to … you f-f-forced me to … that is, uh…” Jane trails off again and puts her head in her hands. Sabina stares at Jane with slowly dawning horror. Her own voice rises, loud and angry and disbelieving:

“I what?!”

“Sabina,” Elena’s voice is scared yet firm. “Chill. Give Jane a minute.”

“No!” Sabina springs up, bounces on her feet a little. She can’t believe what she’s hearing! It’s impossible. It’s impossible. It’s just not possible. She already knows what Jane is trying-and-failing to say … and she can’t believe it. She would never do that to Janey, never hurt her girlfriend like that. NeverNeverNever …

“Yes!” Jane matches Sabina’s energy, exploding out of her seat so they are toe-to-toe.

“Oh boy…” Elena mutters nervously, leaning back, still seated on the couch.

“What, I raped you?!” Sabina’s voice is outraged, terrified.

“No!” Jane sounds outraged and terrified too. “But you might have … if Elena didn’t try to pull you off me! If I didn’t bite your goddamn tongue!”

Sabina stares at Jane, breathing hard. Her heart is slamming up against her ribs. She can’t believe what she’s hearing; she can’t process it. This is too much, too much, way too much …

“So I…” Sabina glances down, huffs out a frustrated breath, stares at Jane again. “Kissed you? Against your … w-will? Touched you?”

“Yes!” Jane’s eyes are wild. “You did!”

“More than that?” Sabina checks, voice impossibly measured. Jane stares at her.

“…No.” Then after what seems like an age of them staring at each other, Jane adds:

“You were so strong. I couldn’t … get you off! You weren’t there. You just … weren’t there.”

Sabina blinks. She thinks that she’s turned into some kind of statue. Maybe she’ll never move again. She doesn’t think she could move right now, even if she tried to, had to, even if her life was in danger …

“Say something,” says Jane. She sounds so upset suddenly. Her face is flushed, her eyes are filled with tears … and she looks angry too, teeth bared in some chaotic emotion.

Sabina says nothing.

Elena has risen now, and is gazing uncertainly between them, looking freaked out. At least from what data Sabina’s frozen senses still allow her to access …

“Bina?” Elena says softly. Sabina has no words. Elena looks over to Jane. “Janey?”

Jane takes a deep breath and seems to gather herself.

“That’s why,” she tells Sabina woodenly. “You … forced me, and now I fr-freak out if I even … think about us, together.” Jane frowns, worries at her bottom lip, looks down. “I wish I didn’t.”

Sabina sucks in a guttering breath. Another one. Another. The frozen state is gradually melting away; she can feel herself coming back online. It’s something about Jane admitting she wishes that she didn’t freak out … that means she still wants Sabina, wishes that they could be together. Jane’s not rejecting Sabina deliberately! Jane’s just … traumatised from being … sexually assaulted, which is … completely understandable. Sabina could not have more empathy for Jane! She knows what that shit is like. She knows what it does to a person. She wishes Jane didn’t know …

Sabina just can’t get her head around the knowledge that Jane’s perpetrator, is Sabina herself.

“Sabina?” prompts Elena again. “Can you talk to us now, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.” Sabina sucks in another breath. “Sorry ‘bout that. Something got fried.”

Elena looks at her with such compassion. Jane looks relieved – Sabina is not sure how to read that, just now.

“I get it,” Sabina tells Jane, drawing on her last lingering reserves of courage in order to form the words. Jane needs her to. Sabina needs to Use. Her. Words. She’s got to address this relationship emergency … and it has to be done now. No choice, no choice, no choice …

“I gave you n-no choice,” Sabina says, fumbling for the right words. “So now you don’t w-want me, anywhere near you … like that. And I … get it.” She stumbles to a stop. What more is there to say? There’s nothing more that can be said …

Jane nods slowly.

“Yeah,” Jane confirms. She looks incredibly sad, which is just how Sabina feels, too.

“I’m sorry, Janey,” says Sabina, forcing herself to meet her girlfriend’s eyes, as much as it feels like getting tasered to the heart. Sabina has never been sorrier for anything in her entire life …

Jane’s eyes fill with fresh tears and her lip curls angrily. She looks like she’s about to break down weeping or else, to punch Sabina out. Instead, Jane reaches one hand forward, slowly, tentatively, longingly. Sabina’s eyes are wide as she feels Jane’s hand cradle her cheek.

Then Jane is leaning in, and kissing Sabina. It’s a short kiss: soft, sweet. Sabina just stands there and lets Jane do what she wants. Sabina’s too shocked to kiss back; she’s absolutely floored.

Beside them, Elena lets out a little gasp.

Jane’s hand drops away. She leans back and gazes deeply into Sabina’s eyes. Jane’s eyes are still wet with tears, but she doesn’t look angry anymore.

“I love you, idiot,” Jane tells Sabina solemnly, like it’s some kind of romantic wedding vow. “I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Sabina blinks. Then she reaches for Jane’s other hand … and raises it to her lips. She does this slowly, checking with eyes and pauses to see if Jane’s going to pull away. Jane watches her levelly … and lets her.

Sabina presses Jane’s hand to her lips, oh so gently. She presses a kiss there; just one. She puts all her feelings into it, all her love for Jane. All her longing for things to get back to good, for Jane to be okay despite what Sabina’s unwittingly done under the influence … for Sabina to be okay despite knowing what she’s done. Then closing her eyes, Sabina nuzzles her nose affectionately against Jane’s hand just a little: she doesn’t know why.

Jane makes a noise in the back of her throat. She sounds … overcome. Sabina lowers Jane’s hand, gently. Lets it go.

Beside them, Elena is smiling like the sun. After a pause:

“Takeout?” Elena suggests.

“Oh please.” Sabina rubs her stomach which lets out an embarrassing gurgle. “I could eat a horse.”

“Try a cow,” jokes Jane, smiling at them both with such obvious joy and relief that it makes Sabina beam back at her girlfriend. “That’s actually achievable.”

“Cow it is,” says Sabina, and she’s vaguely aware that their banter is sub-par … but who cares about that because Jane and Sabina are bantering again. That’s all that Sabina could ask for. It’s even more!

Jane loves her. At the end of the day, that’s all that matters.

Chapter Text

Jane’s POV

“I feel nervous; do you guys feel nervous?” Sabina is bouncing on her toes, as the three-of-them stand outside the ritzy mansion lit up like a Christmas tree: rich people’s party time. The night air is chill; it’ll be warm inside though. Jane’s team has finally been released on their next official Angels’ mission, four and a half months after #MissionDisaster2. It’s about damn time.

“If anything,” Charlie had said in this mission’s briefing, “it’s a miracle that you’re mission ready again, this soon! I’m proud of you, Angels.” The Angels had been sitting on Bosley’s couch, Elena in the middle. Charlie’s so-familiar voice had been coming over the radio-like device always used for secured communication with the Townsend Agency’s founder, benefactor, and commander-in-chief: Charles 'Charlie' Townsend.

Jane had felt herself sitting up straighter and prouder, even though Charlie (presumably? Probably…) couldn’t see her (who knew for sure). Elena had blushed shyly. Bosley had grinned smugly and Saint had nodded his agreement. Sabina had fidgeted in her seat, seeming restless.

“Now, now, Sabina,” Charlie had said kindly … which was half of why Jane had suspected that he? she? they? (whoever Charlie was these days!) might be able to see them, after all. “I know you’ve been … antsy.” The familiar male voice had chuckled warmly, echoed by Bosley and Saint. Elena had reached over to hold Sabina’s hand. Jane had scanned Bosley's office's walls and roof. Where was the hidden camera?

“I was ready waaay before now,” Sabina had said, a tad sulkily. Jane had rolled her eyes, unable to help herself. What a blatant lie! Sabina still hadn’t recovered her memories to any significant degree: maybe she never would. Sabina’s lab testing had revealed next to nothing about any permanent effects of ‘Werewolf’ … though there’d been water cooler gossip claiming that Sabina wasn’t as chaotic-alignment* as pre-mission, and crediting ‘emergence’. Jane had scoffed but secretly wondered. Sabina was … less … half cocked. She seemed to have developed more self-control, especially under pressure; it was probably a good thing … maybe even a great thing.

It was true that Sabina had healed physically, and Saint had shared multiple times that he was pleased with her progress in therapy. Yet Jane wondered if Sabina was affected by their last mission much more than she was letting on — or more likely, was aware of — much more than the Townsend Agency seemed to assume …

Jane wondered this, because similar was true for herself. Yes, Jane was fully healed physically thanks to rest, massage treatments and physical therapy … not to mention Saint’s various medical-herbal concoctions. Yes, Jane had warmed herself up to mission ready status via a carefully chosen training routine. No, Jane was not mentally-emotionally 100% (as much as she hated to acknowledge that … if only to herself) … and as far as she could tell, mandatory therapy was next-to-useless. Jane remained unsure what to do about this unfortunate fallout: she didn’t want to ask (anyone) for help; she didn’t really believe help was available …

“We were waiting for Jane,” Charlie’s voice had said soothingly, in reply to Sabina’s claim to-be-ready. Jane had goggled. Say what?!

“I know you have reservations, Angel,” Charlie had told Jane while everyone looked at her. With iron will, Jane had held herself back from outright squirming under the attention, more than a little embarrassed. She’d schooled her face into the familiar mask; Elena had taken her hand. How did Charlie know that?! Jane was unable to stop herself from giving the ceiling a quick scan again, hunting for a hidden camera …

“I can’t see you,” Charlie had said, which had to be a shameless lie. Then Charlie had laughed warmly, echoed again by Saint and Bosley.

“We don’t believe you,” Sabina had said, sotto voce, and Jane saw her girlfriend’s eyes were darting about too, on the hunt for cameras.

“I even agree with you, Jane … to an extent,” Charlie had told Jane, sounding serious now. “You three Angels have endured … so much, cumulatively speaking. We all owe you a great debt of gratitude: you have achieved mission objectives that have been considered … impossible.”

All three Angels had glowed. Such high praise from Charlie, their commander-in-chief, was especially sweet. Charlie’s voice had paused then added:

“Your last mission was especially … challenging.”

“You mean fucked up,” Bosley had said. The mood had lightened.

Charlie had chuckled warmly, and Jane couldn’t help but relax a little. It was Charlie. They all loved Charlie! He? took such good care of all his Angels. Jane respected, even admired Charlie as their ever-competent leader … and it was hard to earn Jane’s admiration. Just like it was hard to earn Charlie’s debt of gratitude … that they’d just earned. Jane was still glowing with pride …. Charlie was continuing. With good humour:

“Yes, Bosley, that’s the technical term. Still, Angels, after extensive testing and collaboration, Bosley and Saint agree that you are indeed in fighting shape, ready for your next assignment.” Charlie’s voice had turned questioning. “Do you disagree, Jane?”

Jane had glared. Charlie had just put her in a catch-22 … damn his clever self. She had never wanted to get back on the field, more. Jane had been going stir crazy, even more so than Sabina, which was saying something!

“I don’t disagree,” Jane had admitted, drolly. Charlie had won this round: Jane wasn’t going to push her reservations … if it got in the way of getting back on the field ASAP. “We’re … mission ready.”

And so, here the Angels were again. On the field, raring to go! About to – as Sabina had put it on the drive over – ‘go full spy-detective on someone’s evil ass’. Now, outside the mansion:

“I’m nervous!” Elena agrees with Sabina. Elena is breathing a little too heavily, and she definitely looks nervous. Jane places a supportive hand on Elena’s bared shoulder, and her girlfriend smiles up at her gratefully.

They are all dressed to the nines in party wear. Elena is in a mauve strapless cocktail dress that really brings out her olive complexion: Jane’s mouth is watering. Sabina wears a tailored suit that reminds Jane of assassin Hodak’s (admittedly excellent) taste in fashion. Sabina looks cute and queer and badass: Jane’s mouth waters more. Jane herself is wearing an elegant ballgown of pink chiffon … she doesn’t look badass, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t. Jane is badass no matter what she wears …. Maybe even more so in clothes that look ‘not badass’. Because nobody sees her coming …

“No comment,” says Jane. She doesn’t believe in admitting weakness right before the start of a mission. Jane has to keep her head in the game! Whether or not she’s nervous, is immaterial.

“You look gorgeous,” Sabina is telling Jane, favouring Jane with a lascivious onceover (that couldn’t be more obvious). Sabina bounces on her toes, even more than before. Yes, Sabina is (at least) slightly manic. This is normal pre-mission behaviour for Sabina Wilson … so Jane is unconcerned. Jane has grown used to it, fond of it even … she only pretends to be annoyed.

“…So do you,” Jane comes back with. She watches in satisfaction as Sabina’s jaw drops. Sabina obviously wasn’t expecting a compliment … or such open appreciation. Jane smirks and deliberately gives Sabina a lascivious onceover, Jane-style. Sabina goes bright red. Jane glances at Elena and winks conspiratorially. One-upping Sabina is fun …

Elena grins back, amused and seeming charmed.

“You’re both gorgeous,” Elena says happily. “We’re going to have so much fun.”

“We always do, baby,” Sabina pats her vest consideringly, and Jane knows that Sabina is double-checking her hidden gun is holstered securely in place. Elena is checking her matching handbag for her own gun, taking a leaf out of Sabina’s playbook. Jane doesn’t need to check the twin Beretta APX pistols strapped to her own thighs, hidden beneath the poofy material of her skirt. Jane has already triple-checked; she’s ready. Jane watches her girlfriends affectionately, waiting for them to settle themselves down.

“Ready to go?” Jane checks finally.

“Ready!” says Elena.

“Born fucking ready,” confirms Sabina.

“Let’s do it,” says Jane. She grins and takes part with Sabina and Elena in the three-way complicated pre-mission ‘gangsta handshake’ Sabina has devised for their team … and insists upon.

Then Jane squares her shoulders and strides forward, Elena on her left and Sabina on her right. Jane’s girlfriends match her stride for stride, as they enter the mansion in-sync. They pause in the foyer at the top of a small set of stairs leading down into a glittering ballroom. It’s almost like they’re posing, as though they’re in some cheesy high-octane action movie about ‘beautiful lady detectives’ fighting crime or whatnot. A spy epic? A romantic drama cum thriller cum porn reel?

Jane can feel a nasty grin steal over her face as the adrenaline high starts to surge. Jane was made for this job. It was made for her. Dangerous or not, there’s nowhere else she’d rather be … and no other people she’d rather be doing this with. Jane Kano is an Angel!

Elena flashes a knowing smile Jane’s way. Sabina is busy glancing over the crowd, and Jane can tell she’s scanning for threats … or maybe just scanning for sexy party guests. With Sabina, it can be hard to tell …

Jane takes both her girlfriends’ hands in hers, and they enter the ballroom, together. Dance music swells around them, guests’ eyes turn appreciatively to them, the chandelier brings out the highlights in their styled hairdos. Everything is just the way it should be, just the way Jane likes it. Turns out that #MissionDisasters 1 and 2 have changed nothing fundamental. You simply can’t keep a good Angel grounded. And the three-of-them, they’re the best. Jane just knows it.

Mission.
Is.
Go!