Scents of Romance - Pedro Pascal Imagines And Shots

Fallin' - Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels)

We're fucked. We're totally fucked.

I can't think of anything else while hiding behind a small cement wall containing an outlet noozle, squatting on the ground of this building roof, while bullets fly over our heads hoping to caught us and blow our brains out.

"There's fucking loads of them!"

Shit, this was never in the cards. When Champagne entrusted us with this mission we thought we could do it without much trouble...and we would've gotten it if only Tequila hadn't decided to get high like a kid at his first party yesterday night, being completely knocked out this morning and leaving me and Whiskey alone to handle a plan set for three. Stupid prick. The goal of this mission was to take a dose of antidote in a test tube and go back to the base without being seen. It was meant to be a quick, clean work...but everything has gone to shit when the alarm went off and we found ourselves forced to run on this fucking roof, ending up surrounded and with no escape.

"We're not gonna make it" I say aloud to Whiskey, squatting beside me "they're too many!"

My breath is racing, I look at his face and can almost feel his brain working really fast to come up with something. He just stays in silence for a bit before speaks, reloading his guns as fast as he can.

"Ok, listen" he says in a short breath "I lost my whip and only have a few slugs left. You have to cover me and you have to do it without missin' a shot. Got it?"

"I told you hiding on the roof was a stupid...wait, what?"

"You got that?"

"No, what...no! How..."

"...cover me!"

It's a split second, I don't even have time to reply while I see Whiskey take a breath and stand up in a lightning movement, running to a group of soldiers with open arms and responding to fire with his two revolvers, jumping headlong into the fire conflict.

"Shit..."

I have no choice but to have his back. His brilliant plan was just to jump into the fray like that? Jesus. I aim as precisely and quickly as I can, shooting at these bastards who haven't given us a breath in over an hour. I shoot, keep shooting as I watch Whiskey confront a group of at least seven soldiers in camouflage, picking them off one by one with some fast and precise movements. His motions are so fast that I almost struggle to see them, seeing only the enemies fall ruinously one by one like little toy soldiers in the hands of a sadistic child playing war. I try to keep my concentration even if it's not easy while something touches my head so closely that I can feel the air shift on my ear. I freeze for a sec.

It's a matter of seconds, of quick but very long moments, before I realize that Whiskey has run out of bullets...and so have I.

"Fuck!"

I hide again behind the wall as my hands convulsively move on my pockets looking for more bullets, I thought I had at least one box left...

"Fuck...fuck!"

The fear of seeing Whiskey die right in front of me is making me more than shake and is clouding my mind, not allowing me to think clearly anymore. I have to figure something out. Even though I'm a kick-ass at hand-to-hand combat in this context it'd be nothing but a suicide mission: others are on the way. I look at him spinning his lasso in the air like a cloud full of lightning, waiting for the first move of who'll have the guts to face him...and I can see a little smirk on his face from afar.

There he is, that's my cowboy.

When I joined the Statesman Agency a few months ago I did it convinced that I'd never break the rules that I had set to myself. The first one: accomplishing a mission is the most important thing. It doesn't matter what it involved, what I should have lost, what I should have given up. If carrying the mission entrusted to me requires the loss of my life, fine. The second one: no distraction. If something had made me waver, distracted me in any way from my goal, made me lose my cool...I'd have eliminated it immediately no matter what. And the last but not least one: never, never get emotionally involved with a colleague. And guess what: it's completely without pride that to this day I can say I've broken all of them. I certainly can't deny it to myself anymore: I fell in love with Agent Whiskey a long time ago now. I never had the guts to confess anything, limiting to observe him in silence from afar, admiring his experience and his incredible skills in combat...I've never seen anyone fight like him before. Fast, lethal, incredibly precise. His whip doesn't miss a shot and he wields his guns with great mastery. And then his way of behaving, of talking, of moving...so cocky and so fascinating. I always tried not to make him understand anything, shifting my gaze as soon as his curious eyes rose upon me realizing he's been watched.

"Agent Brandy, are you still with us?"

Champagne's voice brought me back from my thoughts in a second, making me feel so stupid as my cheeks turned red like a tomato straight from the oven.

"Uhm, yes..."

"Did you listen to what I just said?"

I nodded silently lowering my head, the shame was warming my skin while I felt the looks of the other agents around the table all on me. Whiskey, sitting in front of me, smiled softly as he looked down.

...yes, I'm pathetic. I never said anything, keeping it all inside and never leaking any kind of feeling. And damn, God knows how I fucking suffered every time he had to sleep with a target to plant some bugs or to extract important information for the purpose of a mission...but what am I supposed to do? Whiskey is my partner. How could I continue to work with him or even look him in the eye after his rejection?

"Take your time, Brandy!"

It's Whiskey's voice. Once again my thoughtlessness is interrupted by a voice that screams my name, bringing me back to the real world and pulling me out of my thoughts pit. Here I am again, catapulted into this battle. In a second I take back the reins of my mind and my eyes fall on a gun that fell to the ground, still held by the severed arm of the man who was pointing it at Whiskey. His electric lasso cut him clean and cauterized. It's close, I can do it.

I can do it.

With a lightning movement I try to reach it, snapping forward without losing sight of it, but something squeezes my throat and drags me away, just giving me enough time to see Whiskey lose his lasso as I cling with both hands to the arm that's squeezing me up a few inches from the ground. I'm having a hard time breathing. Without thinking too much and with a precise blow I stick the knife that's hide in one of my sleeve inside his thigh and free myself from his grip, lowering and hitting him in the stomach as he grabs me by the hair, throwing me to the ground. I get up but I lose my sight for a bit at the exact moment his fist hits my face, so hard that I almost blacked out. I can taste my own blood in my mouth. My head starts spinning as I realize I'm on the edge of the roof, there's the void behind me.
My eyes open wide.

"You're on the wrong side, bitch."

His evil little smile, those blue icy eyes, his hands covered with black leather gloves lean on me in a very fast movement that I see in slow motion. In a second I feel my body lose balance, falling backwards in a moment that seems eternal to me. I close my eyes, accepting my destiny and the fact that it had to be this way. That it's over. That I'll never see Jack again. That I was a disappointment to the Statesman, to Champagne, to my parents and to myself...but in a split second something holds my wrist, making my body dangle in the void and bumping against the wall.
When I look up and see Whiskey, my heart leaps.

"Don't let me fall" I beg, looking desperately in his dark and frightened eyes "...please, don't drop me."

Despite his efforts he can't lift me up, his arm shakes and I feel his grip tightening more and more while 'cause of the sweat my hand starts to slip. His shoulder is bleeding, he has no strength left.

"Jack"

I look down and then up again, to his face that I'm sure is the last time I see. My heart's beating so hard I'm afraid it's gonna jump out of my chest.

"Fuck, I...I can't..."

"Jack, I..."

It's a moment. A second. My hand slips, no more friction, no more grip. Gravity drags me down with it and my body falls into the void. His eyes screams at me full of terror and desperation. I see them, I see them well as I fall back as they pierce my soul from side to side. I see everything in slow motion, Whiskey leans out even more in an attempt to grab me again, his open hand, his hat flying away from his head. His face, his fear and his despair are the last things I see, maybe he's screaming my name but I can't hear him anymore...and then...all turns black.