I stagger along, clutching my arm to my side, and favoring my leg. The jungle around me is dark, and the bushes and branches sway in the wind. I can hear the rumbles of vehicles and the sounds of various animals. I feel the blood coursing down my leg, and know that I won't last much longer without medical treatment.
After a few minutes, I know I'm done. My vision is fading out, and I finally lose the strength to move. Collapsing down weakly, landing in the bushes nearby, I feel my consciousness fading away.
'Gwen…' I think, and then there is nothing but blackness.
He left me at home! How could he!? I left for like two seconds to go hunting, I get back home, and lo and be-fucking-hold, there's a note on the counter, and no Carlos.
"I'll be back. At the Cradle."
What the Fuck is wrong with him? Like, really? Oh my god… you idiot, it's pirate infested. I run up the stairs, after throwing the goat carcass I had killed into the freezer. I invade Carlos's room, and begin stocking up. I throw on a double hip holster, and fasten on a machete, and two arrow quivers, flipping the caps over the arrows so I can move freely. I string my bow and throw it on my back holster, along with my sniper rifle. Good. On second thought, I also tuck a medical kit on me.
I grab one of his spare bandannas off the floor as I run out, and tie it around my head like a do-rag. Perfect. I sprint out the door, and run for the jet ski I keep hidden, so I have emergency transport if needed.
As I sprint along the white sandy beach, I can somehow feel that Carlos is wounded. I know I have to hurry, and my feet move even faster, the desperation giving me the energy I need to move. I leap onto the Jet ski, rev its engine and get moving, heading for the beach where I know his boat will be parked.
I get there and I know he's nearby. His boat is sitting there, and he isn't. Dammit. I leap off and sprint into the woods, heading for the thick jungle available for cover. I realize that I forgot to put on my shoes as I left in such a hurry. This means that I'm in my tank top, do-rag, jean shorts, and no shoes. Oops. As I sneak along, I realize that Carlos must have stormed a camp, as there are pirates everywhere. I'm able to sneak through, but as I go, I hear my worst fears confirmed.
"I know I got you, ya motherfucker! Where are you hidin'!?" Yells one, his gun held at the ready. I notice that he is also clearly stoned.
"Come out, come out, Carlos!" calls another, seemingly more sober than his friend.
"You hide good, I'll give you that!" And then I see the blood. Great splotches of it, and it's fresh, and still slightly warm when I touch my fingers to it. I look up, and I see his boot. I dart forward, and put my bow in my holster, pulling out my medical kit. He's been shot. Twice.
I wrap the wounds tightly, and stop the bleeding, but I know I can't get him out of here with these pirates. It's time.
_
I barely manage to open one eye, having just come back into consciousness, but my eyes both spring open the best they can when they see what is going on in front of me. Gwen is there, crouched like a ninja, shooting down guys with a bow.
'When did she get here?' Is my initial thought, but then I just watch her. Her fine features are set in determination, her jaw line sharp and angular, a sleek contrast to the angle of the arrow against her cheek, as she draws and fires again and again. I can hear the cries of pirates falling, and her roars of anger, and I watch as those delicate features harden into sleek anger. Her mouth is open, yelling out, and she stands, long hair swirling down her back as it flicks off her shoulder. I dimly notice that it is held back by a bandanna. My bandanna.
Her feet are bare, and she stands proud, but she keeps firing. She slows, and lowers her bow, looking around, her dark blue eyes alert and sharp. My vision is hazy, and I blink, trying to focus. Evidently the pirates are gone, and she holsters her bow, flicks her quivers closed, and runs to me. She picks me up with ease that would make any man blush, if I had the ability, I would be.
Instead, I just pass out from the pain of my wounds being disturbed.
When I, surprisingly, wake up, I can feel the lightheadedness that comes from losing blood and being dehydrated. I flick open my eyes and look around, trying not to squint too much in the sunlight streaming through the window to my right. I can feel layers of bandaging around my thigh, forearm and bicep. I look over, and start in surprise. Gwen is there, totally asleep, sitting in the chair next to my bed, her hand laying on my chest. I realize belatedly that my hand is clasped over hers, directly over my heart. I smile softly, and realize that she must've carried me home. Oh man, I'm screwed. Once I'm well enough, she's going to be pissed.
I look to the left, and start again when I see the IV hooked up to my forearm. I look to the drip bag and read the label. "Saline solution." Oh thank god. It's not morphine. I'm just on a drip to get a head start on rehydration and to boost the blood production that needs to happen. I feel her hand tighten in my blankets, and I tighten my grip on her hand as well. She freezes, and her muscles tense, I can feel them. Then she raises her head and looks up at me, her dark blue eyes wide with surprise.
"I didn't think you would be up for another few days or so. How do you feel Carlos?" She looks to see how much of the drip has made it into my system.
"I've been better. I'm… I'm sorry Gwen." I say, looking away in regret.
I was expecting something along the lines of, 'Yeah, you damn well better be.' Or 'You better feel lucky idiot.' Or something equally sarcastic and typical Gwen. But when she grasped my chin and pulled my face around to meet hers, I was surprised. She pressed a gentle kiss to my lips, and then pulled back.
"You're forgiven. Just don't do that again." She says, eyes searching for my answer.
I tug her forward again, catching her lips in another kiss. She makes a muffled 'mmph' of surprise, but lets me, smiling into the kiss.
I wake up again after another nap, one that had been needed after losing so much blood, and the first thing I register is the pain. Oh god, the pain. The pain of going cold turkey after being addicted for years wasn't this bad. I can't stand it much longer, and I groan in pain, deep and low in my throat, biting my lip. I feel her jolt awake in the chair next to me, and her hand on my chest, and I scream from the light touch. I'm in so much pain I'm near unconsciousness. My eyes have been shut the whole time.
I barely register the sounds of her bare feet frantically leaving the room, the sounds of her flying down the stairs, silence for a few seconds, and then somehow, she is at my side again. My eyes fly open when I feel the barest prick of a needle, and I grab her hand, crying at the pain. My back arches as another spasm spirals harshly down my spine toward the gunshot wounds.
"No!" I bellow at her, my voice raspy from screaming and so low it's dangerous. I realize the tears are tears of fear.
"Carlos! You will die without it!" She yells back, her voice breaking in desperation. I can hear her, but I never want to go back to that place. A place of darkness, of not knowing, of not being able to appreciate the beauty of life, a place of chill existence.
But I must, even just for a moment, and my body screams in agony, and in want for the drug. I'm still holding her hand, but I let her go, she doesn't hesitate. She swiftly injects the drug into me, and I can feel it take effect minutes later.
But it isn't what I thought it was. What she gave me, this is no morphine, or heroin. This, this is something else. The pain practically melts away, and I slowly sigh, releasing my lip from my teeth. "What… what did you give me?"
I look to her, the pain still continuing to ease away. She looks away briefly, but then pulls another needle from her pocket, handing it to me. The label clearly read, 'Hydromorphone 4 mg'. Hydromorphone? Shit, that stuff was way more powerful than anything else I had ever heard of.
"Where did you get this? You have enough to kill someone." I ask, handing the syringe back to her.
"You know how I was in the FBI? When they send you out on missions, they give you two syringes. One of a powerful pain killer enough to ease the pain of gunshot wounds, and the other filled with enough medication to kill yourself if necessary. Turns out it was Hydromorphone, a powerful pain killer in the death syringe. I pulled out 4 mg and gave it to you. You needed it." She said, her voice cold at the explanation, and clearly begging me not to explain.
I just nod, digesting that information, then I grab her wrist, and pull her down next to me. "Just don't do it again, please. I could be addicted again, really easily." She is relaxed down next to me, her head resting on my good shoulder. I can feel her nod. I loop my arm around her waist, and I roll onto my side, holding her close. I hear and feel her sigh happily, and her gentle fingers tangling in the fabric of my shirt. Her hair brushes my nose, and as I breathe in deeply, I realize that she smells really damn good. Something like female, plants, and earth. It's amazing, and I bury my nose in the soft strands.
After a small nap again, I realize more than anything, that I must get up. Gwen insists otherwise, saying she'll carry me. No way in hell, not while I'm conscious. Then she compromised, and I'm not sure what to do about this.
"Goddamnit, just let me stand up!" I say, more mock angrily than anything. God, this shit is embarrassing. And I really have to pee.
"I already told you that you can, you just have to let me stand here to be potential support." She smirked back. I could hear the smirk, and I wasn't even looking at her. I sigh, but I slowly shift my legs out of bed and stand unsteadily, and I admit it, I grab onto her shoulder for support. She lets me, hand ghosting around my hip, but she doesn't touch, just lets me stand on my own. After a few seconds, I let go and take a few steps, my feet unsteady.
"Well come on, did I forget how to walk?" I say, but soon enough my balance comes back to me. I hobble my way down the hallway to the bathroom, hobbling due to the bullet wound in my right thigh. Fabulous. I make it there and finally take the piss I had been dying for, complete with a hefty sigh of relief, and I hear her crack up laughing as she walks past the door. I blush, but hey, in my defense, I really had to pee. Not my fault.
After I hobble my way out the door and down the stairs, I find her doing the most amazing thing in the world. She was making food, and I eagerly hobble in, taking a seat at the table. A few minutes later she sets a plate laden with a hefty turkey sandwich, a sliced up apple, and some chips in front of me. The sandwich is piled high with every vegetable I could ever want, and I take a glorious chomp out of that sucker, groaning in happiness. She makes the best food ever. Even if it is just sandwiches. She sits down next to me, and takes a hefty bite out of her own sandwich, happily chomping down her own meal.
As I happen to glance down whilst chewing, I notice how dirt stained her feet are. Huh. Last time I saw her, her feet were clean…
"Why do your feet look like they went through the zombie apocalypse?" I ask, after swallowing. She glances down with her eyebrows raised in confusion and slight laughter glowing in her eyes. She rolls her eyes and swallows, saying, "I forgot shoes when I went out to save your sorry ass. No biggie." She takes the last bite of her sandwich. I raise a brow at her, and toss a piece of apple at her when she looks up again.
And the clever thing, without missing a beat, opens her mouth and catches it. She ate my fucking apple piece.
I choke in surprise on the chip I was eating, and stare, and she smirks back at me.
Not fair.