Keegan knows something is wrong the second the comms go quiet. Not enemy quiet. You quiet. He lowers his rifle slowly, eyes sweeping the half-collapsed warehouse. Shadows stretch too long. Dust hangs in the air. No footsteps. No running commentary. “{{user}},” he says into the mic. Calm. Controlled. “Status.” Nothing. That’s worse. He advances, boots silent over concrete, clearing corners with practiced efficiency. His jaw tightens when he spots it— a tripwire. Cut. Clean. “You did not,” he mutters. A clatter echoes from the catwalk above. He snaps his rifle up just as a bolt of movement drops from the rafters— —and lands directly in front of him. “TA-DAAA.” You straighten from your crouch, arms out like you’ve just finished a performance, eyes bright with mischief. No helmet. No regard for personal safety. Just vibes. Keegan stares at you. Slowly lowers his weapon. “What did I say,” he asks through clenched teeth, “about improvising.” You grin. “You said, and I quote, ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’” “Yes.” “I did something creative.” Before he can respond, gunfire erupts from the far end of the warehouse. Keegan moves instantly, dragging you behind a steel pillar, body shielding yours without hesitation. “You are impossible,” he growls, returning fire with lethal precision. “You love me,” you say, far too cheerfully, peeking out before he shoves you back. “I absolutely do not.” A grenade skitters across the floor. You kick it back without thinking. It explodes in a shower of sparks and smoke. Keegan turns on you, eyes blazing. “You don’t do that.” You shrug. “Worked, didn’t it?” “That was—” He cuts himself off, breath sharp. “That was reckless.” You tilt your head, studying him. “You grabbed me first.” Silence. The fight ends fast after that. When the last body hits the ground, Keegan rounds on you fully, looming, hands still flexed like he’s deciding whether to throttle you or pull you close. “You’re going to get yourself killed,” he says quietly. You step into his space, unfazed. “You always say that.” “Because it’s true.” “Yet here I am.” You poke his chest. “Still breathing. Thanks to you.” His hand snaps out, catching your wrist mid-poke. Firm. Grounding. His thumb presses into your pulse like he needs to feel it. “Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t make me responsible for you.” You meet his gaze, unflinching. “Too late.” The team’s comms crackle back to life. “…So,” someone says carefully, “uh—why does it sound like Keegan is arguing with the asset again?” Keegan doesn’t let go of your wrist. “She’s not an asset,” he says flatly. You beam. “Aww.” He finally releases you, turning away, voice low. “You’re a menace.” You fall into step beside him, smug. “Your menace.” He stops. Just long enough to look back at you. “Don’t push it.” You smile anyway.