A Coin Flip

[pants]

Lucas quietly excuses himself from the jeep. He keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him. He pushes open the double doors, looking around inside the empty inn. He heads upstairs. Looks around an empty room.

Would've been big enough for a full size bed. This should do it.

He sees the others parking the jeep inside. Good. They're smart enough to keep themselves alive. He knew he could trust them. They didn't need orders. Never did. They would be okay. He pulls Polybius's gun out of the holster. Fishes a small coin out of his pocket. Yeah. Lucky Lucas, huh? What a load of bullshit. A new city every year for the past 10 years, and then the Worksite. And then Mark. And then Karol. and then Kairos. And Marina. One by one, anyone who knew anything about who he was or what it was like to do the things he has to do. Brooklyn screaming at him in the medbay. Schwarzkopf yelling at him as Sven swings a chair into his side. Arthur yelling at him and storming off. Chance shooting Nora.

And Demi-- Oh, Demi--

He flips the coin. Watches it flutter through the air, end over end, catching the light in the most beautiful and mundane way.

This moment... this last heartbeat... This could be it.
One last light in a dark room and then he would never have to think of everyone he got killed ever again.
If it comes down heads, that would be mercy.
They would hear the gunshot. Find him. Maybe bury him if they all didn't hate him for fucking everything up.

He wouldn't have to see the crater he put in her body every time he closed his eyes.
Wouldn't hear the softest, most terrible and gentle sound that the gunshot forced out of her every time he took a breath.

It was falling now. His right hand, outstretched, palm-facing up, awaited the verdict.

Please, if he's wrong, if there is a god out there, please for the love of everything that is right and good and beautiful in this world, please let it be heads. He killed her. He killed her and he deserved to die for it. Please let it be heads.

The coin lands in his palm.

He looks down.

Tails.

No gunshot rings out. Footsteps recede from an empty room that would've been big enough for two.​

 

[pants]

Lucas was not jealous.

He didn't have any reason to be jealous! Really, he didn't. He moved on, didn't he?
He was going through all the motions. Any jury of his peers would conclude unanimously that he had absolutely moved on.
Morgan had his sunglasses and his scarf and her own special radio channel to talk to him on. They were doing all the couple-y stuff.
The way he felt about her was real.

So why would he be jealous?
No, really, why would he? Maddie, Jake, Sami, hell, even JUDGE was right. Red was not Demi... right?
He told her as much. And she agreed with him. Even if they were both crying. Even if she was yelling at him.
Even if it hurt.

So if Red wasn't Demi, and he loved someone else, then how would he be jealous?
And what the hell was the feeling he got when he saw that man put his hand on her shoulder?
Or when the two of them took the roof of the Hospital like it was natural, instinctual?
The two of them working as a pair, just like--

No. NOT just like "they used to". Because Red wasn't Demi, right?

The feeling-- NOT jealousy-- churned and roiled somewhere under his vest, sending little aftershocks humming along his nerves like piano strings.
His whole body felt uncomfortably warm. Uncomfortably tense. Almost shaking with--
with--

NOT jealousy.

He's so caught up in thinking about it, he forgets to clear the hall to his left. Blue eyes pierce him moments before the pulse fire does.
Searing hot pain licks at his hip, the front post of his weapon's iron sights are liquefied and splatter across his mask and vest. A trench burns itself across his left shoulder. He barely avoids the incoming shoulder charge-- muscle memory from two months of nightmares, more than anything else.

The pain exorcises the not-jealous feeling from his body until the bullets stop flying.

But when they're on the road and the burning has dulled to a low stinging, and his passengers get sick of the limited music selection...

Maddie was right. Lucas Leavitt was a fucking moron.​

 

[pants]

"Yes, I am aware that fuck was seen. Joey isn't going to escape. He can't hide in that valley. Sir--Sir...yes. I understand."

"If you need to pull out, then go. No one kills that woman. You hear?"

He should've known. At that FUCKING moment he should've known. But no. They kept moving. Higher and further into the unfinished concrete tower. Until they reached the top, and a narrow hallway like a throat constricted them to single file. Joey went first. And he stopped in the doorway, pushing Lucas back with a dismissive hand.

"Back," Joey whispers firmly. A vocoded bark in the distance, not more than a single word, breaks the tense silence. They saw him.
"How many?" Voron asks. As if they could salvage this and stick to the shadows. There was no telling how many were down that claustrophobic passage.

Joey turns around, and with a sad, weary, resigned sort of calmness, says simply, "Go. Now." Lucas hesitates and reaches for his radio and puts out the order. The former conscript takes his mask off, returning Lucas's silenced handgun, abandoning the plan that governed them only moments earlier.

Lucas Leavitt whispers ''Joey-- are you sure about this?''
He hands Lucas his RPG-7 and a bag of rockets. "...Hold those for me, yeah?"
"Let's get a Humvee prepped!" echoes through the vacant construction.
Lucas whispers "See you on the other side," trying to retain some kind of optimism.
"You won't."

He stares at the weary soldier. He doesn't know what else to say. Maybe if Katya was here-- but she's not. Nobody's seeing this but Joey and Voron.
"...Then give 'em hell." Joseph Aguilar gave a shrug. He turned the corner and disappeared from sight, alone.

But that bought them time, right? Time to-- to escape, Morgan said.
"Now's not the time to process... it's time to act." She was right. Even if that's not what she meant.
Maybe... just maybe they could do more than escape. Maybe they could still count this as a win.

She stops him from heading for the watchtower. He would've had a clear shot at the bridge. Maybe he would've seen something.
When it comes time to drop down the pipeline towards the muck and finalize their escape, the others go first. And it's just him left.

There's still time. There's a path to his left. It would only take, like, two minutes, tops. She'd be so pissed, though. But it would be worth it, right? To make Joey's sacrifice mean something?

He digs a small coin out of his pocket. Morgan backtracks just in time to see him flip it into the air. If it's heads, he does the stupid thing. Tails, he retreats.

It's tails. Of course it's tails.

"...Fuck."​