Chapter Text
Wraith knew everyone has off-days, where the body can't catch up to what the mind wanted to do, and a person finds themself hesitating on the decisions they would otherwise take instinctively. Where to go, when to attack, when to push or reset a fight—these are valuable situational awareness skills that a certain Holographic Trickster often took into consideration and jabbered about on the field.
Right now, Mirage was sloppy.
She can see frustration etched into his face as the POV camera switched to the random he's with, crawling towards him beneath the sewage pipes of the Slums. Blood washed down the current as he signaled her and their third to continue moving. The bullet wound was his, from what she can tell.
He overbit the fight without a backup, eager to draw blood and Wraith should have been there. If he wanted to play careless and aggressive just to blow off steam, he knew she's the only one that has a chance of patching his haphazard strategy together and making it work around the situation. Their skill sets are opposites and complementary.
But he signed without telling her, and she respects his space.
As quick as tides turn in the Games, their third cried out when a Charged Rifle singed straight into the meat of his arm, and the feed cut into a random she's never seen before, sniping down Mirage's team from the top of the hills. She and her team mates shared amused laughter.
"Third party, no. Fourth party?" Loba mused. “That’s a bad situation.”
“He’s going to be fine.”
The Thief doubted it, giving her a look she returned with a warning glare. They do that often when it's just Mirage fighting with randoms. She doesn't defend him beyond a word or two—he's more than capable of proving himself—but sometimes she couldn't determine whether they're being serious or not.
"Alright. If you say so beauti—"
Her words were cut off by loud siren blaring in the Drop Ship, signaling their imminent arrival to World's Edge. The Game live from King's Canyon buzzed into the seconds countdown and dozens of Legends stepped into the dropping platform. Those unpaired or incomplete were rolled into the system, and to her and Loba's surprise, the third person they're queued up was Revenant. It's a bout of rarity; the two were almost always guaranteed against each other, because ratings tend to spike up when there are rivals hunting each other on the map.
The Nightmare let out a sneer the moment he saw the Thief, dashing any hope of civility.
"Hello Loba."
"Ugh, you again." The Thief brushed past him to step on the platform, "You know the drill. Stay out of my way and don't get downed demonio, because I sure as hell won't pick you up."
"Wager," Revenant looked over the Thief's shoulder, to the Skirmisher, "none of us will pick each other up."
At her.
Wraith knew the benefit of taking the two over random Legends, but she'd be a fool to trust either of them again. "You both can say please and I'll think about it."
Nothing for a moment, but then the response made Loba burst out laughing. "Oh I'm not beyond begging beautiful," Wraith kept her eyes fixed back at the Nightmare's eerie glower. "but I think a certain someone's rubbing off you."
The countdown ticked to zero and the platform disengaged. Wind began billowing between the three of them as they approached the World's Edge from the North. A couple of squads jumped off the Refinery, Epicenter, Skyhook, and before they can decide on the Jumpmaster to follow, Revenant pinged the Capitol. There’s snark on the tip of the Loba's tongue but the Nightmare leapt early with parting words:
“I’ll be sure to have your backs.”
And oh boy, as Mirage put it when he queued with the two before, and Revenant dropped hotzone in Fragment East with six other teams breaking apart, this is going to be a short one.
It turned out longer than she expected.
They made it as far as the third ring closing, defeating a team in Harvester but ultimately dying to the ring that ended less than twenty meters away. They could've gone farther if any of them played like they were actually part of a team—although none of them seemed to care about the loss with a 26 Team Kill that seemed to please her team mates they weren't hostile on the way back. Mostly because they were both out of commission.
She adjusted her scarf. Out of the Dropship and into the respawn chamber is what they usually say about that kind of queue.
Ring death has always been considered one the most embarrassing ways to go, but it was also the easiest to heal from. Within late that night, she managed to escape the Med Bay pumped with drugs and a strict order against physical activities for at least three days to a week.
Wraith got as far as two corridors down the Apex Facility still a little woozy from the pain meds that she had to blink twice at the sight of three figures exiting the door of a private room.
“Hola, mon amie.”, "Yo."
Wattson and Octane perked up at the sight of her. Lifeline looked up last from closing the door, an arm secured in a sling, and DOC hovered behind them, carrying the Medic's supply pack and the Defender's equipment. All three were covered in bandages, but they otherwise looked fine.
"Didn't see yuh queue." Lifeline said with a nod.
"Got thrown in Talos with Loba and Revenant."
The Medic winced, "Short game?"
"A little." Wraith said. The Daredevil and the Defender turned a little away, talking in hushed voices. “The three of you queued together?”
“With Mirage actually, which is why dropped by.” Lifeline nodded. “Got him too banged up I think.”
Worry pooled at the pit of her stomach, but she bit it back and turned back to the Medic. Mirage. That's how she noticed the name embellished on the door. “What happened?”
“Caught 'em in the Slums. He held up fairly well to get his team off Nat's traps, but they ended up with two other squads so we got them all.” The Medic shifted, and it made Wraith curious exactly what else happened. Their team, the sniper team, the other team. "Can yuh tell him—"
“No apologies. You know the rules.”
"Hah, alright." She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. “Yuh wanna eat with us? O's paying this time and I plan on cashin' out.”
That one made the Daredevil and the Defender turn sharply back to them, "Oye, I don't recall agreeing to that chica."
"We had a deal about kills, Silva, pay up."
"Only cause you stole from me. I broke everyone's armors, you just got the last shots in!"
"Not another of yuh excuses."
"We can get desserts after?" Wattson prompted. "Then I can cook tonight, if you want."
That made him stop. Octane glanced between his girlfriend and his childhood friend, and groaned. "Fine."
"Wrapped in her little finger." The Medic snickered.
Then, three of them glanced at her and Wraith blinked.
They were waiting for her input rather than being courteous.
She wondered when was it that people genuinely started wanting her around, because there was a time more than a year ago where Legends and civilians alike avoided her; hell, she used to be blacklisted in pre-made teams for being uncooperative.
Then she met Mirage. It probably started there, when she was appraising King's Canyon for the best place to drop and she caught him winking at her. Four months she spent not seeing the same face on her team twice, and suddenly she can't get rid of him.
“Maybe next time." Wraith said, "I think I'll stay for a bit.”
"Suit yuhself," Lifeline gave her a knowing look. "but get some rest. Don't want yuh passing out again."
With congratulations and murmured goodbyes, the trio trudged ahead into the bustling crowd of the general lobby. Her eyes were quick to spot a couple of OTV reporters blocking the Champions' path, but there were a few that caught her eyes from the distance, and for a moment she considered leaving. Media wasn't allowed in the private rooms, though there's no doubt they'd know exactly whose room she was standing in front of. They'd see her go in and start another bout of obnoxious rumors that would dog them for weeks.
But.
But Wraith's gone past the point of pretending not to care about him.
Mirage stirred and opened his eyes up to a dreary white room.
It took him a moment to remember the events from before he passed out—what exactly landed him in this predicament, who blasted his limbs off—and for a second he had a sinking feeling that all this head banging will end with him developing dementia too. Was it heritable? Little chance was not zero after all. Then he wondered if his Mom was okay. Didn't she have a shareholder meeting today? Surely with the amount of eyes he had around her, he'll know if something happened. She promised to take it easy for the next few days after—
Wait, wait, wait. Where was his phone again?
A sharp panic blew in his gut.
What if someone did call him and he hasn't been able to answer?
His hand jerked around for the offending piece of metal, then he turns his head to the left and—and Wraith’s sitting in the visitor’s lounge, with her arms crossed in front of her chest and her head hung. She’s still in full combat gear, clearly asleep. Did she queue for a game?
She probably did, from the bandages peeking beneath her scarf and the bruise covering the side of her face.
He thought about telling her to go home and rest, but ache shot from his leg to his hip the very moment he tried to move.
He passed back out before he could say a word.
When Mirage opened his eyes again, Wraith’s leaning by his bedside in Lifeline's black band shirt. She hasn’t noticed him yet, reading through a perfumed letter somewhat crumpled in her hand. She looked better rested than when the last he saw her; the bruising around her jaw had disappeared.
You visited me? I'm touched was the first thought in his mind, but he didn't attempt to say it. He turned his head away.
He supposed he should apologize for not telling her he was planning on queuing up. It's an unspoken agreement between the two of them, after the mess of their first game. She probably wouldn't bother listening though. He can already imagine her rolling her eyes and muttering something about being dramatic.
The first time they fought together, had been...an odd experience, to say the least. She won that one in the Crossroads. They had spent the entire match ruining each other's game plan by third partying each other but the longer the skirmishes were fought, the more it became increasingly obvious they couldn't bring themselves to kill each other. He hesitated in his headshots so much that Bangalore called him out on it, while Caustic snapped to stop being so incompetent. Meanwhile, she took a lot of crap about being able to land a Wingman shot some two-hundred meters away, but being unable to hit a person at five meters in front of her.
By the end when literally there were only two of them left and they were seconds away from the ring completely closing, she had stood over him. He expected her to lord the win—maybe say, I told you I was better than you—but her face was molted with bruises and her mouth was streaked with nosebleed from inhaling too much of Caustic's gas. "Just take the shot", he told her. He won't forget the way her hands shook from the Peacekeeper or the quiver on her split lips when she squeezed her eyes shut.
That Game caused an uproar, one that went controversial and clipped over and over in fail montages. It sent Game Analysts into frenzy about their stats and the media finally discovering a foundation to speculate about their relationship. Frankly, he had been more worried when Wraith disappeared in the scene for days and reappeared almost a week later in his bar drunk with no other words but, "That sucked". Of course, that couldn't exactly last as far as the Syndicate and the Apex Games are involved.
“Someone wrote you poetry.”
That snapped him from his thoughts, and she’s staring at him amused.
"What?" He croaked.
Without taking her eyes off, she twisted the cap of a water bottle and offered it to him from the bedside table. “This one said ‘your beauty has no bounds, no name, no compari—’”
It clicked, and he was mid-swallow when he said, “Oh please don’t.”
Her shoulders shook with quiet mirth, tossing the paper back to the usual pile of fan mail at his bed side. She gestured to another, “Someone else said they still remember the smell and taste of your sweat when you gave them a hug.”
He pulled a face, “No.”
“How about a picture of you changing clothes from outside your room?”
"Wraith."
“I thought you liked your fanmails.”
“I do.” He sat up, testing his muscles and finding them sore but otherwise manageable. “Some just get a bit…off hand.”
"So I've read." She moved away from him, “You’ve been out for a while.”
“Feels like it.” He rubbed his thigh. “I, uh…between Lifeline and her shock sticks, Octane and his Mastiff and Wattson with her Flatline, it was bad.”
“They dropped by after the Game, and once yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
Wraith nodded, “You've been out for two. Lifeline said you’re healthy, but the personnel insisted on keeping you for another day.”
“They always do that.” He snorted, normally it was okay too. They’re doting on him. It's part of the whole Mirage package getting everyone everywhere to like him because being nice to people unsurprisingly came with perks. Like dibsing him on the best private rooms, and free hospital slippers.
He reached for his phone on the bedside and found no missed calls. Just unread messages from two people he assigned to look out for his mom. It was mostly updates that she got home safely, although one message talked about her seemingly confused at a business dinner yesterday before she recovered. He doesn't know whether to be relieved or not.
The sound of box wrapper opening made him glance back at Wraith, just in time to see her put a chocolate ball into her mouth. "You know one of these days the sweets you're stealing are gonna be poisoned."
She raised an eyebrow. "You think your fans are going to poison you?"
"Well, no." He planned on regaling her on the tale of That One Guy who got an exploding present as a belated revenge kill, but stopped at the unsure look at her face. It came with good news and bad news, and he doubted he's in the position of taking more bad news this week, but he still asks anyway. “You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Then why are you looking like someone kicked Path and called him Tin can?”
She hesitated, shifting on her spot.
"Wraith?"
“I found the Planetarium.” She blurted out.
Wait, what? That came out of nowhere. “What?”
“The Planetarium, Mirage.” She rolled her eyes, annoyance because she knew how to deal with it better than embarrassment. To this day, Mirage wondered if she was aware she blushed so easily. “You said there’s one here in Solace. I looked it up yesterday.”
“But?”
“No buts.” She pushed another chocolate ball past her lips. “You wanna come with?”
Oh. Oh.
His heart picked up a faster beat, and he’s really grinning before he thought about it.
“What, like a date?”
Wraith made a sharp annoyed noise. The the redness on her cheeks spread to her neck and ears, and his grin grew.
“Like an I want to go there, but people might bother me, and I’d rather they pester you.”
“Right."
“Look,” She dropped the bag of chocolates on the table. Her eyebrows furrowed and her lips curled, and uh-oh, angry Wraith. “Do you want to come or not?”
“'Course I do.” He slid his legs off the bed, testing his weight. There's still a bit of soreness when he stood and leaned his weight on his left side, but it'll heal on its own. Mostly, he can't wait to get out of his Angel City Hustler clothes. He died in it. "Lead the way."
The Skirmisher raised an arm and a portal burst open at their side. “I got us tickets.”
“You planned ahead, huh?”
He swiped the trinkets off the bedside, and Wraith gestured her head towards the Void with a glare.
“Get in before I change my mind.”