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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sarge and Caboose are still holding off the entrance to the garage when the former catches the tail ends of Tucker and Doyle arguing behind them.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"— we'll lose everything for nothing!" Doyle is shouting, barely audible over Caboose's gunfire. Sarge strains to listen, strains to focus amidst the million other priorities on his mind right now— make sure Donut and Doc back in safely, make sure Grif and Lopez have the Pelican engine fired, make sure Tucker and Doyle are out of harm's way— just to hear the sharp, panicked, humorless laugh Tucker responds with.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Well, there's not really any other option!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He yanks a pin from a grenade that had been holstered to the small of his back, tossing it overhead to make up for Caboose's blind spot. Sarge has never been the most observant and he knows it, but there's something to the silence Doyle responds to Tucker with that has his teeth grinding together. "Blue," he barks into the comm link, and Caboose responds with little more than a grunt, "hold your fire and back up toward the Pelican. Don't take your eyes off that damn door."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Yeah," is all Caboose says in response, voice tinged with a focused frustration. Freckles, clipped to his back, makes note of some movement that Caboose can't see, causing the Blue to turn on a dime and level his machine gun fire at another blind spot.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Praying Freckles can make up for his absence, Sarge ducks into the garage and grabs Tucker by the back of his armor plating. "Get up in there, we shoulda been gone two minutes ago!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Tucker shouts in tense exasperation, but doesn't argue any further, letting Sarge shove him toward the Pelican and using the momentum to throw himself into the bay, where Simmons grabs him by the wrist to pull him in. Sarge grabs Doyle by the elbow next, drawing the general's straying attention away from a Mongoose sitting by the door. "No."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"What?" Doyle splutters, voice shaking. It hurts to hear, but Sarge holds fast. "Colonel—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You're gettin' out of here. Alive and now." Doyle makes an indignant noise, and Sarge looks over his shoulder to check Caboose's position— a few inches from the outside of the door and backing up further. "Donald."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The breath Doyle lets out is so shaky it sounds closer to a sob. "I can't— I can't simply abandon my home, Sarge. I'm all there is between Charon remaining in the city and them leaving and us losing it for absolutely nothing. I'll be going and you will not be stopping me. That's— that's an order!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Rank means nothing to Sarge right now— not when what Doyle is suggesting is as risky as it is. He tugs Doyle closer, their armor clacking against one another's, voice dropping to a growl. "If you're goin', I'm goin' with. You hear me? I'm not lettin' you into that alone. You get in that Pelican with me or we get on that Mongoose together."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They don't have time to deliberate and Doyle knows as much. Knows he can't convince Sarge to get out of this alive so he might go and risk his own life out there, knows Sarge isn't going to let him off easy. Sarge can hear the reluctant, pained strain in his voice. "The Mongoose it is, then."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Atta boy," Sarge huffs. His grasp moves down to Doyle's wrist, tugging him toward the Mongoose with a newfound fervor. "Caboose! Get on the ship! Lopez, I want that door closed the second the Blue's in the blood tray!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"What? Sarge!" Simmons shouts. Sarge winces at the abject fear in his voice, turning as he practically throws Doyle into the passenger seat of the Mongoose. When he glances over, Simmons is leaning out of the bay, staring straight at him. "You can't— you and Doyle—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"What are you fucking doing?" Tucker yells, any concern in his voice hidden by a painfully loud layer of rage. "Get in the fucking ship, you idiots! Where are you going?!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Keeping the prey baited." Sarge kicks the ignition, watching as Caboose steps onto the gangplank. "Lopez, shut that door!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Lopez, fucking don't!" Tucker shouts into comms, but it's too late: the gangplank is already rising. Tucker clambers to exit the Pelican, only for Caboose to grab him with a large arm around his shoulders and force him back in. Sarge doesn't miss the concerned helmet tilt Caboose casts in their direction. "Caboose—!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The door shuts with a hiss and Sarge exhales, stepping on the gas and pulling out of the garage before the Pelican can even begin its takeoff. Doyle yelps, gripping for the handlebar to keep himself in place. His voice is still shaking when he finds it, ducking his head as they manage to tear past a few shocked pirates. "Take a left! Left! Sarge!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Gonna have to give me directions a block in advance, General!" Sarge shouts back at him, pulling a hard left that has Doyle fumbling again. "I ain't always quick on the draw!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Whatever Doyle means to say in response is cut off by Grif's voice. "SARGE! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Goddamn moron," Sarge hisses to himself. Then, into the comm: "Get off my goddamn line, Private! I need it clear unless y'want me and the general to die some brutal, undignified death!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Grif growls, angry and insubordinate and concerned and damn near afraid. "Sarge. Where. Are. You."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The idiot. Sarge grunts right back. "Drop the Blues and Doc off at the rendezvous. We'll figure something out with Kimball and the Freelancers. The pirates would only follow us out if we left now, so we oughta keep them distracted long enough to feel the blow. Get off my goddamn comm line, Captain Grif."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀And he does, parting with little more than a disgruntled, distressed breath. Doyle shouts another direction and Sarge barely manages to take it. The comm sparks to life again and Sarge curses, struggling to hear Doyle's actual shouting over the secure line Wash has opened up. "Get off my radio, Blue, for god's sake! I don't have time for this!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Why the hell is Tucker telling me you and Doyle aren't on the fucking Pelican out of the city?!" Wash shouts back, an echo behind him. "If something happens to Doyle, Locus and Felix—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I'm not letting a damn thing happen to him," snarls Sarge, nearing the end of his rope. The aforementioned shouts more directions that Sarge narrowly follows, a headache starting to set in from the frenzy around him. "Hear me good'n proper, Washington, I'll keep him alive. If Doyle leaves, the pirates leave. Armonia'd go up in flames with nothing for us to show for. We can bait them until you and General Kimball get that reactor going."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Reply belated as he's apparently preoccupied, Wash rumbles darkly. "Sarge, I swear to god—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"If y'don't want him dead then quit clogging up our line and get to the reactor faster!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"That's the problem! We're not at any sort of advantage down here, Sarge! Epsilon's our best bet for maneuvering these tunnels and he's with Carolina and they're not exactly available to guide us right now!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"God damn it!" He shouts over his shoulder, disregarding his mic being open as he does. "Don, you know where the reactor is from here?!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Doyle startles from his focus on the road. "I— yes! We're a couple miles or so out!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"It's settled! Wash, you and Kimball go make sure my damn Red doesn't get her ass kicked! Doyle and I will arm the core on the way! Clear my men an LZ and we'll meet there!" Before Wash can argue— and he tries to, in earnest— Sarge continues, "That's an order, boy! We'd get there faster from the sound of it, anyhow! Trust me for once in your damn life and believe I'm getting Doyle out of here alive!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Wash is silent for seconds that feel like minutes in the distant noise of gunfire and battle around Armonia. "I hope you know what you're doing, Sarge."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The words reignite the spark of stubborn confidence that had been flickering hesitantly in his chest, straightening his posture with it. "Move, Blue!" The comm buzzing out is his signal to turn his attention back to Doyle. "General, gonna need you to stay with me here. We're taking over reactor duty."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Oh, dear," Doyle breathes, which is a far better reaction than Sarge had been prepared for. He's sure the general's white-knuckling the handlebar behind him. "Alright. Perhaps— perhaps for the best it's us, yes. Once the meltdown begins it will be about fifteen minutes before our time runs out." His voice hasn't stopped quaking since they left the garage, but it's commendable how hard he's trying to hide it. "What's the plan?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You guide me there, we get in, we arm the core, we get to an LZ where Kimball and Wash will have my boys arranged to get us all out of here. It'll be tight, but—" he grimaces as they hit a particularly deep pothole, wrangling back his control over the vehicle. "But I have your back, alright? So don't go panicking on me, now."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As if to prove he won't, Doyle heaves a deep breath. "I know, Colonel. I won't."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They take a nauseating amount of turns to get to the reactor. Having taken off from the garage so suddenly proves to be a good thing: Sarge knows without a doubt they were tailed, but it's more likely than not that the pirates were slow enough on the uptake to buy them some time. They're clear for, maybe, five minutes, and every second of those minutes counts.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The moment Sarge pulls into park— all but ramming the Mongoose into the building to ensure they can get back to it easily later— Doyle's already stumbling off to get to the console. Sarge follows close behind, opting for his rifle over his shotgun for its better range. "Y'know what you're doin'?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Barely, but just enough to get it done," Doyle admits, activating the terminal and punching in an override code. "Oh, the safety regulations I'll be violating…"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You can revisit 'em when we end this war." Sarge widens his perimeter so he can see through the doors. Doyle laughs, brittle and weak, and it's enough to keep Sarge vigilant.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀For all of two minutes, Doyle manages to work furiously on the console without interruption. Then Sarge hears the roar of an approaching engine outside and curses. "Don, we got company!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I just need a few more minutes—!" The typing gets faster and louder. Sarge can hear the pinging of warnings on the console behind them, but can't turn to look as he blocks the entryway that the approaching Warthog is closest to. "Sarge—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I have you, stay focused!" Three pirates jump out of the Warthog, not having noticed him past the angle of the door yet. It's an advantage he has to use, leveling his scope and firing straight through the visor of the closest pirate. Their head reels back and they land on the pavement, twitching.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It gets the other pirates' attention, though, the vapor trail guiding their gaze back to Sarge. Sarge checks his clip on his HUD, then swaps out for his shotgun. "ETA, Doyle!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I'm nearly done! Please, just—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The next pirate comes in swinging, their CQC covered by their companion's gunfire. Sarge ducks inside, body-blocking Doyle as much as possible and hoping his armor can tank the stray bullets, and just barely misses a knife to the side.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He holds his shotgun horizontal to block the next swing, pushing against the pirate's lighter weight and sending them stumbling backwards. Adrenaline and an overpowering sense of protectiveness flooding him, he immediately swings a leg out, making use of the way the pirate is disoriented to trip them as they lunge for him again.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀They land behind him— closer to Doyle, which sets alarms blaring in his head. They're on their stomach, though. Sarge brings his boot down as hard as he can on the exposed small of their back and lets the overwhelming mania clawing its way up his throat take over, aiming his shotgun straight at the back of their helmet and firing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The bullets exit through their visor with glistening bits of viscera attached. Thank god Doyle's back is still diligently turned, because Sarge is sure the sight would have him woozy. He turns to get between Doyle and the door again—
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀then a bullet fires straight at Doyle.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sarge is just barely too slow to intercept and the bullet neatly slides into the unarmored section of the other man's back. Doyle cries out as it ruptures his lower spine and red floods Sarge's vision.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He throws himself bodily at the pirate and they land in a muddle of moving limbs on the ground. Sarge doesn't have a size advantage, but his unbridled rage proves to suffice; he punches the pirate so hard he can hear their jaw crack through the helmet, then drives an elbow into their visor.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀With them stunned by the blows and their visor cracked, he levels his shotgun at the fracture and fires. Once, twice, three times until their face is partially visible and sickeningly mangled.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His breaths are heavy as he comes down from it, immediately springing up to get to Doyle. Sarge hurries over with large strides; Doyle is crumpled over the console, gasping for pained breaths and bleeding out of his back. His hyperventilating has Sarge short of breath, free arm moving out urgently to hoist Doyle upright. "Good god, Don—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Alive. All that matters," Doyle hiccups, trying to fight off his distress. He lets Sarge yank him up proper, arm tight around his shoulder. "Hurts terribly—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Afraid it will for a minute. I'm sorry." There's no exit wound, which isn't necessarily good, but the gun's associated rounds couldn't have pierced past the bone at that distance if Sarge knows anything and hopefully didn't hit any major organs. "I have you. You manage to finish the reactor?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Almost. Need to— to confirm a process," Doyle grips for the edge of the console. Sarge holsters his shotgun to fumble for a biofoam canister on Doyle's hip, shouldering as much of his weight as possible. "Sarge—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Stop talkin'. I need you t'focus on that last thing for me, alright?" He flips the nozzle up, knocking his helmet to the side of Doyle's briefly. "This'll sting, but focus for me, alright, doll?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sarge doesn't have time to rescind the habitual endearment. "Right," Doyle grits out, used to Sarge's casual, usually-teasing flirtation, but not lucid enough to recognize the honest weight of it now. Sarge presses the nozzle in and sprays, trying not to remit when a pained sob rips from Doyle's mouth.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I have you," he promises, free hand clutching Doyle tight. "Come on, Don. You'll be fine."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Doyle breathes harshly to regain himself, shaky hands working at the console again. Sarge ensures the bullet hole is fully sealed before tossing the empty canister aside. He doesn't leave Doyle's side just yet, holding him tight as he opens a comm line. "We're just about done! The second this last bit goes through we got fifteen minutes to vacate, and the general's injured! Tell me that extraction site is cleared!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"He's injured?!" Kimball shouts, and Doyle flinches at the volume. "The intersection at Fifty-first and Tenor. It's a few miles away from your position, Colonel, but we're about to land there. Stay on comm when the timer starts. How bad are the injuries?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Bullet through the spine, it looks like. He's patched up for now, but it's not going to fix anything." He pulls away from Doyle to reequip his shotgun. "But he's alive. Don, how's it looking?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Just about—" he presses a key, and the lights flicker red in the whole facility. With an exhilarated and fearful laugh, he draws back, grabbing at Sarge for stability. "Fifteen minutes! We— we have to go!"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You heard the man, General K! Move it or lose it!" He half-guides half-drags Doyle back to the Mongoose, ensuring he's cognizant enough to grip the handlebars before he gets into the driver's seat. "Sweetheart, don't nod off, I still need you. We need to get to—"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Take your second right going forward," Doyle breathes, one hand moving to grip the back plating of Sarge's armor tightly. "Then a left. I'd have to— have to estimate it'll take us around ten minutes."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"On it," Sarge responds, and they're off.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sarge almost wishes he'd set a timer before they left, because the drive feels painfully long without knowing how much time they have to spare. Relief strangles him when he turns the final corner and sees the Pelican, familiar armor colors just by the gangplank.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He almost drives straight into it, yanking the steering handles and nearly throwing Doyle off in the process. They're being tailed and damn lucky the pirates are awful shots in motion. He practically lifts Doyle— barely conscious at this point, but seeming less pained— off the vehicle, the last vestiges of adrenaline helping him break into a sprint with the general draped over his back.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Four minutes!" Epsilon yells as they pass Carolina on the gangplank. They tumble into the blood tray, Sarge immediately dropping Doyle into the nearest available jumpseat and kneeling in front of him.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"Shit, Don," he breathes. Doyle twitches in recognition, a clumsy hand scrabbling to find Sarge's vambrace.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He laughs, thin and breathy, and Sarge's heart clenches. "Being a hero doesn't— doesn't quite suit me like it does you, I'm afraid."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"You're a damn idiot is what you are." He shifts so he can grab Doyle by the hand, letting their intertwined fingers rest on Doyle's knee. "Good lord, of all the times you could choose to toughen up. Don't know what I would've done if you'd gone alone. Had me scared half to death."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"A feat I'm sure few have accomplished," Doyle chuckles, delirious. His voice drops to a near-whisper. "Thank you. For, ah… having me, as— as you put it. I would've horribly regretted losing you had something gone wrong."
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Sarge just hums, squeezing his hand. They'll talk about this later, when Doyle's less injured and Sarge has properly processed the shift in their relationship from idle flirting to harrowed by the idea of losing one another, but for now Sarge is only grateful.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Across the aisle, Donut leans toward Simmons. "So… we're going to talk about this," he waves a hand toward Sarge and Doyle, "revelation later, right?"
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I don't think I want to," Simmons answers, bemused.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Carolina encases the entire Pelican in a shield just as the core blows. Armonia burns, and Chorus revels in their bittersweet, short-lived victory.