Participants:
| Scene Title | A Forlorn Hope |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | In military history, the term "forlorn hope" refers to a troop placed at the forefront of what seems like a futile battle, many of whom are likely to die. |
| Date | July 5, 2021 |
Broadway Street
Ruins of Toledo
Ohio
Inside the battered remains of Scout, Chess sits staring out the slats of the shattered window. One hand holds Castle’s, dried blood on both of theirs, though only Chess is still injured. She’s exhausted, but keeps watch – for any sign of the scavengers returning, and for any sign of one of the healers.
She’s managed to evade the healing hands of both Richard Cardinal and Natalie Gray so far.
Now and then, Chess’ lids sink, the lashes touching down slowly on her dirty face. This time, as soon as her chin drops, she sits up straight again – and then hisses in agony as the gunshot wound in shoulder protests, pain both sharp and dull shooting through her body at once. Her grip onto the door handle until her knuckles turn white, but her hand in Castle’s loosens, trying not to wake them. Now, her eyes are clamped closed, but she’s wide awake, breathing shallow breaths through her nose as her jaw bites down to keep quiet. After a moment, it fades to a duller throb.
This is a pain Chess can handle; she almost embraces it, because it distracts her from the real horror of the afternoon.
The last thing that Castle remembers is pain. That may be gone now, as awareness pulled back, but instead, there is the stiffness of an uncomfortable sleeping position more than anything else— and the dry stickiness of the blood on their clothes. It may be the hiss that wakes them, but it still takes a moment for their eyes to blink open, and for them to attempt to sit up, hand squeezing around the familiar grasp.
No, this isn’t waking up from a normal stop. This is—
What happened? they try to ask, but the words don’t quite come out properly in their throat. Any damage may have been healed, but they still have to try again to form the words. “Chess, what happened?” Their hazel eyes look around at the immediate damage, one moment more blue than green, the next moment more green than blue. They blink against the light, trying to focus.
They don’t see the damage done to Chess immediately. It may take a few moments for them to even realize that the vehicle they are in is even Scout.
Her eyes close, brows knitting together – the relief at hearing Castle’s voice is almost painful, almost visceral, it’s so intense. She knew they were healed, but until their eyes opened and they spoke, it didn’t feel real.
It felt too much like Raven Rock.
She swallows, and turns to look at them – it’s hard to see Chess’ wound, or to know it’s not healed. Her shirt is black, the blood stains at her shoulder merely a darker shade. The sweatshirt she had been wearing that had blotted their blood lies outside the vehicle now, along with the bloodstained belt she’d used to hold it in place, tossed out when the healer had come for them.
“We got attacked. T-boned by a truck, then shot at,” she murmurs. Her voice is low, almost flat in its affect, like she’s giving a status report about strangers to a stranger. “We’re okay now. We lost Walker. Almost a few others but they were healed. You were healed.”
She sounds calm, almost eerily so from someone whose emotions usually spill over like an overfilled cup.
“Walker…” Castle repeats quietly, in a neutral tone as their eyes refocus. It is likely they were committing the name and face to memory, though perhaps it is fortunate it was not someone they had known better. “I don’t even remember the collision,” they add after a second, touching their free hand to the side of their head as if expecting to find some kind of head injury. There was some dried blood there, from where their head had hit the vehicle's frame. It had all happened very fast.
They had not planned for that. But they also had survived it, thankfully. All but one of them.
“Nothing ever goes as effin’ planned, does it,” he says with a grin, now feeling where the gunshot must have been. For a moment, it’s him looking at her, from the expression to the eyes, to the tone— even if the face and so much else is all wrong— But that’s also how—
“Chess?” they started to sit up, without letting go of her hand but trying to get a better look at her now that their eyes are starting to clear.
Every muscle in her face is taut; her brows drawn upward and together in an expression of grief and pain, not mere worry or confusion. Her mouth presses, tight and closed, in a battle to keep that pain and grief within rather than spilling out for Castle to contend with, when they had their own close call already.
Her eyes close, when he says her name, and she tries to dam the tears that start to seep out from under dark lashes. She shakes her head and takes a shaky breath.
“It’s okay.” That’s a lie. She’s never been a good liar. “We’re okay.” Not all of them. Walker just yesterday was okay, and now he’s not, her thoughts remind her. She’d just spoken to him yesterday. Did she speak to him this morning? She can’t remember. This morning feels a lifetime away.
“It was just close. I feel like-”
She shakes her head, then squeezes her hand. “It’s okay.”
“Like with Miles,” Castle said quietly, understanding where she was going with that without needing to be told everything. “I gotcha. It— Never expected that they’d somehow manage to hit me in the first seconds of an attack, but that’s the problem. You don’t expect what you hope never happens.” Even when Castle had said they were trying to anticipate the worst, so they could better prepare for it, the hadn’t been ready for that. They still needed a few seconds of reaction time to get the Castle up. And they hadn’t had that. They probably had been knocked out as soon as Scout was hit.
“I should see Lowe about some armor and a helmet.” Something that they don’t need for cosmic travel that they could wear all the time while they ride, in case of another ambush. But that isn’t what they were most worried about right now.
“I’ve been healed— so why haven’t you?”
The thought of them riding around in armor and a helmet draws a soft huff from her, but the amusement doesn’t quite reach her eyes; they still have that thousand-yard-stare quality to them.
“Like Miles,” Chess confirms. “You didn’t have a chance to zig or zag, though.” Her brows draw together as a wave of emotion wells up at the small joke that only she understands, but she swallows it down.
The question about healing draws another weak laugh from her, and she tips her head to peer out the slats of the armored window, looking for the woman she’s been avoiding. “Natalie Gray’s running around healing everyone, and I’ve been avoiding her,” she says, wincing slightly as she shifts a little, her fingers tightening their grip on theirs. “Your mom had a vision a while back, and I’m trying to outrun fate. I don’t want that kind of responsibility.”
She hasn’t told Castle about the vision or what it entails, but the fact she’s trying to avoid the woman with one of the conduits is probably enough of an explanation.
“Technically it was Scout that didn’t zig or zag,” Castle says with a grin, though without real humor to it. “Probably not the brightest idea to stick around here, then. In case they need to come back and check on me,” they offer, before shifting in the seat a bit in an attempt to see how well they can actually move. It’s not as difficult as they thought it would be, but they definitely wanted to change into another set of clothes.
“I guess at least this prediction you had warned about. Though, I’m not sure if that is a good thing.” It wouldn’t have been good if they’d known Basil would have died, especially since they doubted it would have changed anything. They don’t say that. Instead. “We can split up and grab some supplies, then we can hide together til this blows over. I need to clean up and we can get you bandaged at least.”
“Well, neither of you did,” Chess concedes, but with a wry smile. “And I think maybe you were right about being better served in the middle. Or at least not in the lead car.”
She squeezes their hand, and smirks. “Don’t let it go to your head, this being right thing, all right? Saffron, keep Basil modest for me.” Some of the numbness has worn off, that flat affect warming after a few moments of talking with them, seeing them awake and alive and vibrant once more.
“All right. I’m going to go find some water, try to clean up a little,” she says, leaning forward to kiss Castle’s cheek. “Bring me a clean shirt too, one without a hole in it, yeah?” she says as she opens the door with her good hand and slips out of the vehicle.
“We ride together. So if you stay in Scout, that’s where we’re staying too,” Castle says with a soft smile, one that is obviously more from the part of them that has green in their eyes. This whole situation made their relationship odd, but, well— it had been a little odd before, just from a different point of view. Saffron had to deal with riding in the backseat in the relationship already. But now the angles had changed.
Basil really hoped that they could figure this out someday. But if not—
They had to save first. Cheek kisses would have to be enough.
“Catch up with you soon,” they say as they look at the Scout with a sigh. “At least neither of us died this time,” they mutter to themself, once Chess was gone before they get to work on finding some clean clothes and anything they could put on a wound.