That Move

zarcake-writes:

This is just a little something based on Soldier’s new highlight intro. Hope you like it!

Warnings: mention of blood and violence, fluff??

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You didn’t see him coming. How could you? He was so fast, so
damn fast. You barely saw him run at you, his weapon raised then you felt and
heard the butt of his gun hit you in the face. You fell to the ground and the
world went black for a moment; your ski mask gave you no protection from the
hit. You should have gotten one made that would protect your face from hit like
that. Should have gone to Torb, you thought.

When you opened your eyes, you saw stars and double of your
attacker. You knew that jacket and that mask, everyone in this area knew him.
Soldier 76. The vigilante who was hunting down the Los Muertos gang. The
vigilante who saved some people and made others cower in fear. Yet that’s not
what got your attention. It was how he was standing. You knew that stance, in
fact that whole move you recognized. But, how?

Your eyes cleared and he just stared down at you. His pulse
rifle at his side, his chest puffed out, and his other hand was formed in a
fist. The way his chest was moving as he breathed and just his overall stance
reminded you of someone. In fact, this entire scene felt like déjà vu. But you
remembered this happening with a blonde haired, blue eyed young man who had the
prettiest smile and the sweetest laugh. Not with an angry white-haired
vigilante who wore a mask.

You remembered that day. You and Jack were in a one on one
simulation, he was always faster and stronger than you but that’s why you asked
him to assist you. If you wanted to become the best, you went to the best for
help. He had come around a corner and you barely saw him running at you, you
didn’t defend yourself in time and you got face full of a rifle.

You remembered letting out a yelp and falling to the floor.
When you opened your eyes, you saw his boots first. Looking up, you saw him.
Jack was above you, rifle at his side and his fist clenched. When he saw the
blood on your face he immediately dropped down beside you and began assessing the
damage.

“Shit Jack, did you have to hit me so hard?” you asked. The
world was still spinning and your head was throbbing. You felt something slick
running down your face.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get you so hard! I
thought you saw me,” he said. He helped you up, and despite still seeing stars
and being wobbly you snorted.

“You owe me, you ass,” you said. You punched him in the
chest and he let out a noise.

“That hurt.”

“Not as much as my face,” you said. He only laughed and
helped you to the medical ward. You still had the scar.

You were brought out of your memory when Soldier 76 grabbed
you by your shirt and slammed you against the wall. The air left your lungs and
you felt dizzy again.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you out here?” he spat. His voice
was rough and angry, it didn’t sound like Jack. But it was.

“Mask,” you managed to breathe out. He ripped the ski mask
off your face and… Jack froze.

It was you. After almost a decade, it was you. You were
older and you looked tired. You had a gash on your forehead and blood was
tickling down your face. He sat you on your feet and used your ski mask to dab
at the cut. You leaned against him and looked up at the visor.

“Why did you hit me so hard, Jack?” you teased. He froze and
looked away from the gash and into your eyes. You knew.

“Old habits die hard,” he grunted.

“Like us old soldiers, eh?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you. Why are you out
here?” he asked. You looked away from his face and punched him in the chest. He
let out a grunt and you saw he furrowed his brow at you.

“Same reason you’re out here. Now, help me to my apartment, Mr.
I don’t play the rules anymore. The world is still unsteady,” you said. He
wrapped an arm around your waist and let you leaned against him.

“Still can’t defend against that move,” he grunted.

“You move too fast for me Jack,” you said. You heard him let
out a soft laugh at that and you couldn’t help but join him.