From Dusk to Dust (Destiny Fan Fiction)

22-The Past

Hit. Hit. Crack.

Alaura punched a couch that she had propped up on the wall earlier. She grunted as she sent a kick at one of the cushions. Sweat dropped down from her hair to her brow.

The screams...God, she could hear the screams of all the lost civilians and her teammates. It clouded her hearing and formed a horrifying choir that echoed against the walls of her mind. She punched the couch cushions as hard as she could, and didn't let up.

The guilt wouldn't vanish. As happy as she was with her new makeshift team, letting her old team down seemed to be glued to her conscious. Alaura released a brief sigh and felt a warm heat surge through her arm down to her hand. She closed her now dark purple eyes before throwing one last punch. The couch lit up in a bright purple light, and disintegrated into purple ash-like flecks. Alaura opened her eyes and leaned against the wall tiredly, her chest heaving to take in fresh oxygen.

Jarvis monitored her closely, and computed the results from her training in his head. He showed her some possible statistics of overexertion on some parts of the body in the close future, and she nodded in response. Jarvis twirled his shell as he eyed his guardian, worried for her mental state.

The screaming in her mind ceased when a voice spoke up from the other side of the room, "You really need to calm down, Ms. Fight Club."

Alaura turned around to see Malachi leaning against the doorframe. She scoffed and ran her hands through her sweaty hair. Practicing for an hour had taken a lot out of her, but she couldn't just sit down and relax. Her body yearned to be active. "Yeah, and you're supposed to be resting, Deadshot."

Malachi smiled lightly at the fact that she used a nickname. With her playing his game, he felt more comfortable to open up. "I tend to rebel, if you haven't noticed it already."

"If that's what you call it. To me, it's simply not listening," she shrugged, a smirk lifting a corner of her lips. She reached over into her duffel bag and brought out a water bottle for each of them.

Malachi refused at first, but gave in quickly. He was in no mood to fight. He glanced around the room before sitting on the only couch left. The whole apartment was a mess, and his teammate only contributed to the mess. The small city evacuated a while ago, headed off to god knows where. Nowhere was safe with those creatures out there, and apparently, it was the fireteam's job to take them out. At least, that's what Alaura and Tanis believed.

"Do your wounds hurt a lot?" Alaura questioned as she took a sip of water.

"Just sore. The bleeding stopped last night," he answered. He leaned back a bit to get into a comfortable position and draped one of his arms on the back of the couch. The memory of the attack floated through his mind. The worry, the fear, it was all over in seconds once Alaura saved him. Then, suffering through some jokes to make her smile was worth it. Malachi's brown eyes peered over at Alaura longingly.

She was worth it.

He was done with trying to deny what he wants. Pushing down emotions, being in denial, squishing his mentality into what it used to be, it was all pointless. He was happily to admit to himself that he's changed, and internally, he already had in his heart. He had a team, and they meant the world to him. It was time to let go of his old mentality too.

"...Hello? Are you going to respond?"

Malachi was shaken out of his thoughts, a little disoriented on what was happening. He quickly replied, "What?"

"You're going to sit out on our next mission," she ordered sternly. The last thing they needed was another casualty. Alaura watched and waited or a reaction, for she expected retaliation. Malachi wasn't always the most cooperative, so she created responses in her head ahead of time to prepare.