From comment prompts post:
ooc: From the thelosers_fans comments fic post: Cougar is temporarily blinded during an op. Pre-Aisha. Could be applicable for either movie or comics 'verse.
"What was that?" The four of them were sitting, heads bent over the map for the last run of the plan when the ground shook, and everything brightened.
The com link only spat, "shit," in the sniper's voice, distorted with transmission. The distance wasn't that great, and yet.
And then, radio silence. Clay rolled his eyes before reaching for the comm. "Cougar!"
There was still a beat before the sergeant's voice came through, and it was muffled somehow. "Here."
"Status. Report!"
"Sir. Unidentified vehicle arrived at target. Created commotion, but no guns fired. One woman, previously resident at target, moved closer, then somebody detonated. Heavily chemical, more people hurt than killed." And, the Colonel thought he heard an added, muttered, I think. But before he could ask, he was surprised by Cougar's voice speaking up again, adding to the typically (if recently so) laconic report. "I can't see."
It took Clay a split second to register - Cougar would not be telling him if there was something in the way, he'd just overcome the obstacle; when he did realize what it was, he echoed, "shit." And then he rolled right on, turning to the rest of the unit, strapping for the next stage of the mission. "Man down." The realization was coming to them, too, jaws clenched and brows drawn down, each in a different way. "Jensen. Go to him, report. If this shit comes down as it should have, I'll come pick the two of you up after we're done. If not, I'll come pick the two of you up so we go."
"Sir."
"Roque. Can you take over--"
"Jensen's spot. Yeah, I've got it."
"Good. And Jensen?"
"Sir?"
"Tinted glasses. Just in case. Run now."
***
Cougar wasn't showing just how much he was panicking.
He knew because none of the others reacted like he was panicking. There was some terseness in their voices (he had heard that 'man down' from Clay, and it was, for all practical purposes, precise when it came to him at the moment), but they were shifting, closing ranks and finishing the job.
It was better than emergency extraction leading to mission failure. He hated when he was the cause for that.
"Coug."
"Over here."
Jensen had showed up quickly enough, he was certain. It felt like a year until the familiar voice identified him and the sniper-gone-blind could discard the contingencies of what he'd do had somebody else found him first.
Cougar shifted, then shifted again, to make sure the larger body had room enough to lie down in his position; he'd need to, in order to assess things and report correctly back. The sounds of Jensen rustling in on his place delayed though, just a heartbeat. "You alright?"
He wished he could find a smile to reassure his friend, but he didn't even know which way the blond was looking, cursed darkness with afterimages of the explosion still dancing, even if slower, amidst it. Instead, he muttered, "I'll keep. Let's finish this."
Maybe Jensen shook his head; he couldn't see. He could hear his swallow, then how he settled to sweep the lenses across the target.
"Damn. It's a mess."
"Anybody leaving? I couldn't see if people were running away."
"I..."
Coug focused, pointed to the left, blindly, but he hoped it was precise enough. "There should be an opening around there. Somebody important might be running away." His mind took time, again (for him, it was a long range of time, even if it was probably barely noticeable), before reminding him that he would not be seeing Jensen's motion to look where he pointed; he did feel the slight change in temperature as the other man shifted closer.
"I don't think anybody is. Very few are seeing any better than--"
"Than me."
Gulp. "Yeah. And those who do seem to be in charge. The wounded, well, I guess they won't be taken care of for a while."
Cougar's lips pursed. No, he did not like that, but before he could comment, Clay's voice filtered through the comm link. "Jensen. Position?"
"I'm in position."
"Report."
And so it went, a mission where he was, by necessity, short not only eyes but voice and judgment and targeting, his most precious ability, for the team. It was disorienting, to put it extremely mildly; the chill gnawing at his stomach that it wouldn't go away, that he was useless now to them all, sightless, dependent. He had no illusions that he'd be left behind as soon as it was certain it wasn't going away, and he was beginning to wonder.
Because it wasn't dissolving into a thick fog; it remained as black and impenetrable as earlier.
And then he would be nobody.
For now, he tried to work by other senses. Mostly hearing; some touch - warm-cold, motions of air. Memory, working much from memory at least on their eventual way back to camp, and then around that.
It was a pain in the ass; within an hour, he was snapping at people until Clay growled at him, "sergeant! You sound like a skirt with a flimsy headache. Shut up."
Made him realize he even did have a headache, too; but he did shut up.
Just you wait until I can see again. You'll see about whiny skirts then.
If I can see again.
Shaddup.
"What was that?" The four of them were sitting, heads bent over the map for the last run of the plan when the ground shook, and everything brightened.
The com link only spat, "shit," in the sniper's voice, distorted with transmission. The distance wasn't that great, and yet.
And then, radio silence. Clay rolled his eyes before reaching for the comm. "Cougar!"
There was still a beat before the sergeant's voice came through, and it was muffled somehow. "Here."
"Status. Report!"
"Sir. Unidentified vehicle arrived at target. Created commotion, but no guns fired. One woman, previously resident at target, moved closer, then somebody detonated. Heavily chemical, more people hurt than killed." And, the Colonel thought he heard an added, muttered, I think. But before he could ask, he was surprised by Cougar's voice speaking up again, adding to the typically (if recently so) laconic report. "I can't see."
It took Clay a split second to register - Cougar would not be telling him if there was something in the way, he'd just overcome the obstacle; when he did realize what it was, he echoed, "shit." And then he rolled right on, turning to the rest of the unit, strapping for the next stage of the mission. "Man down." The realization was coming to them, too, jaws clenched and brows drawn down, each in a different way. "Jensen. Go to him, report. If this shit comes down as it should have, I'll come pick the two of you up after we're done. If not, I'll come pick the two of you up so we go."
"Sir."
"Roque. Can you take over--"
"Jensen's spot. Yeah, I've got it."
"Good. And Jensen?"
"Sir?"
"Tinted glasses. Just in case. Run now."
***
Cougar wasn't showing just how much he was panicking.
He knew because none of the others reacted like he was panicking. There was some terseness in their voices (he had heard that 'man down' from Clay, and it was, for all practical purposes, precise when it came to him at the moment), but they were shifting, closing ranks and finishing the job.
It was better than emergency extraction leading to mission failure. He hated when he was the cause for that.
"Coug."
"Over here."
Jensen had showed up quickly enough, he was certain. It felt like a year until the familiar voice identified him and the sniper-gone-blind could discard the contingencies of what he'd do had somebody else found him first.
Cougar shifted, then shifted again, to make sure the larger body had room enough to lie down in his position; he'd need to, in order to assess things and report correctly back. The sounds of Jensen rustling in on his place delayed though, just a heartbeat. "You alright?"
He wished he could find a smile to reassure his friend, but he didn't even know which way the blond was looking, cursed darkness with afterimages of the explosion still dancing, even if slower, amidst it. Instead, he muttered, "I'll keep. Let's finish this."
Maybe Jensen shook his head; he couldn't see. He could hear his swallow, then how he settled to sweep the lenses across the target.
"Damn. It's a mess."
"Anybody leaving? I couldn't see if people were running away."
"I..."
Coug focused, pointed to the left, blindly, but he hoped it was precise enough. "There should be an opening around there. Somebody important might be running away." His mind took time, again (for him, it was a long range of time, even if it was probably barely noticeable), before reminding him that he would not be seeing Jensen's motion to look where he pointed; he did feel the slight change in temperature as the other man shifted closer.
"I don't think anybody is. Very few are seeing any better than--"
"Than me."
Gulp. "Yeah. And those who do seem to be in charge. The wounded, well, I guess they won't be taken care of for a while."
Cougar's lips pursed. No, he did not like that, but before he could comment, Clay's voice filtered through the comm link. "Jensen. Position?"
"I'm in position."
"Report."
And so it went, a mission where he was, by necessity, short not only eyes but voice and judgment and targeting, his most precious ability, for the team. It was disorienting, to put it extremely mildly; the chill gnawing at his stomach that it wouldn't go away, that he was useless now to them all, sightless, dependent. He had no illusions that he'd be left behind as soon as it was certain it wasn't going away, and he was beginning to wonder.
Because it wasn't dissolving into a thick fog; it remained as black and impenetrable as earlier.
And then he would be nobody.
For now, he tried to work by other senses. Mostly hearing; some touch - warm-cold, motions of air. Memory, working much from memory at least on their eventual way back to camp, and then around that.
It was a pain in the ass; within an hour, he was snapping at people until Clay growled at him, "sergeant! You sound like a skirt with a flimsy headache. Shut up."
Made him realize he even did have a headache, too; but he did shut up.
Just you wait until I can see again. You'll see about whiny skirts then.
If I can see again.
Shaddup.