Mana here. Late fic is late. Again =O I wrote this for D-Day (June 6), until I realized that I was actually recollecting Dunkirk. If you don't know your World War II history, it's when the Allies were stranded at the beach in France and the British sent several fleets to rescue them. Yes, I'm a WWII nerd =P
In all, I wish you all a belated D-Day! Egh…a very belated D-Day…why am I so inefficient?? Oh…and I'm still working on Ice Warm, don't worry.
Dunkirk
Christophe's POV
The only thing that came to my mind when the bullet struck me in the chest was fuck. Fuck. I'm screwed. I've been shot before, and needless to say it hurt like a bitch. But such shots were never so close to my heart as this one.
I was sent to kill someone. It was a task turned down by others because of the fact that it was "too dangerous." Upon hearing this I scoffed and told my client I will take it. I was to assassinate a criminal leader, not hard at all. I've worked in that field before so I knew what to expect.
When I entered the designated area, a cottage in a deep forest, I had with me only my shovel and my gun. I figured that this wouldn't take too long and I was strong, so I only needed a few items to take him out with. But then I realized I was dead mistaken when his accomplices sprung out from trees and bushes with guns much larger than the one I was carrying. I didn't worry about them though; I took them all out with my shotgun. I killed them all successfully but that took a toll on my ammo supply. I immediately decided then to use my shovel for the main man, but I wasn't so sure about it. He heard the struggle, I imagine. He's probably got weapons much bigger and stronger than what he sent his henchmen with and I couldn't sneak up on him and snap his neck.
That was when a shot rang out and a sharp pain erupted in my chest. It was on the left side of my chest, right under the collar bone. I panicked; there was a main artery in that part of the body that he might have struck. But I was thankful the bullet didn't go deep. Just on the surface, but judging by the amount of blood that sprouted out, I'd say he hit clean on that artery.
I was bleeding everywhere. My chest hurt, and I had to get out of the area fast.
I stumbled out as quickly as I could. I clutched onto my wound, trying in vain attempt to stop the bleeding, and it did work for a little bit. But only for that long; each time I removed my hand even slightly, blood leaked out in great quantities. I didn't know where I was going at this point. It was dark, and rain began to fall. Eventually I grew too dizzy that my legs gave in and I collapsed on some muddy riverbank somewhere. I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of my surroundings. I was definitely near a river, judging by the whooshing sound. I liked that sound; it made everything less painful.
Rain poured down heavily now, further easing away the pain. I rolled over onto my back, just so the coolness of the rain could soothe the wound, which it did. Then in the distance I heard gunshots and screaming and I smiled. Sounds like a fight; perfect thing to hear before I die.
"I 'ope 'e sends a bullet up your ass, you beetch!" I yelled into the darkness to no party in particular.
I regretted saying that instantly, as now the sound of running in my direction was growing louder. Sheet, I'm screwed now! Well if I'm going to die, might as well die now instead of waiting for the pain to digest me.
But no pain came as the running stopped abruptly in front of me. I reached instinctively for my shotgun with the hand that wasn't on my chest before the figure held up a hand to stop me.
"I wouldn't try shooting me without bullets, mon ami," said a familiar British accent.
It was Gregory who was towering over me, umbrella in hand and a hard look on his face. I smiled weakly to him, to light up the tension. I don't like it when he acts all serious like that, especially now. It just made me nervous.
"'Allo."
But he didn't smile in return.
"Oh dear."
He knelt down on the muddy bank, probably not caring that his jeans or his new expensive raincoat were getting dirty. His eyes grazed over to my bare chest, and his face twitched when he saw the bullet wound. I could tell this was hurting him, seeing this, but because of his training, he showed as little emotion as possible. I stared at him, not having the strength to say anything else.
"He got you, didn't he?" He asked. But before I could answer his hands were already in his coat pockets and he brought up a small glass bottle filled with God knows what. He unscrewed it and dripped the liquid onto the wound. I hissed; it stung, but only for a second. After that everything in that area felt numb.
"Morphine," he muttered, as if reading my thoughts.
Then my heart raced as he brought his hand to the wound. Although everything was numb at that point, I still felt his fingers penetrate the opening. It was not painful, just…weird.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
But he didn't respond. He felt around inside me as carefully as possible so as to not strike anything vital. I knew him, he was good at this sort of thing.
Then he pulled something out of the wound, presumably the bullet. It was long and silver, coming from a very powerful gun.
"My God," he whispered, and tears finally came to his eyes. I couldn't help but cry with him.
I had a vague idea what he was thinking at that point, but it just amazed me that a bullet like that didn't strike anything else on my chest, like a rib or worse my lung. Had it pierced a lung, I would have been dead long time ago, but no.
Then he pulled out another bottle which he unscrewed and poured the contents out onto my wound.
"Anti-coagulant," he explained, "clots the blood to stop the bleeding."
He reached back in to his pockets, taking out some white cloth, which I assumed to be bandages and maybe even medical tape. He wiped the blood off with a handkerchief from his back pocket and began dressing the wound.
When he finished, I began feeling stronger. I sat back up, feeling dizzy just a little bit. But I always refused to show it on my face.
"Are you feeling better?" He asked.
I nodded, only slightly to prevent myself from becoming any dizzier. He smiled as he picked me up in his arms, carrying me like a girl he had just gotten married to.
"Put me down," I said, "eet was my chest zat was shot, not my legs."
He chuckled.
"Always playing the tough guy," he mumbled. I couldn't tell if it was directed towards me or what. But I liked being in his arms.
"So," I said jokingly, "you just 'appened to stroll into ze area wiz medical supplies?"
Another chuckle.
"Do you 'ave your gun?"
"I do."
"Take me back to ze cottage zen," I said.
"No need," he said simply.
"Ey! I said put me down and take me back! I'm not finished wiz ze mission!"
"I said, there's no need, love," he said, "I killed him already."
My eyes widened and color rushed to my face with what little blood was left in my body.
"You what??"
"He wasn't expecting a second man to come and kill him so he was taken by surprise. Killing him was easy and I just hid the body underneath the cottage."
"But—but…"
"But what, Mole? I come in to save you and this is how you react?"
He made a motion to drop me but I clung onto his neck, prompting another laugh from him.
"I…merci, Gregory."
I buried my head in the crook of his neck, closing my eyes as I breathed deeply into his scent. Vanilla, confections…how very like him.
"So anyway Mole, I obtained the information after threatening to kill him with my pistol, which I did eventually…" he trailed on.
I didn't care anymore about that stupid mission, if I had gotten that critical material or not. I didn't care if that criminal leader was dead or alive or if he was arrested on the spot. All I wanted now was to lie against Gregory's chest, listening to his cute posh voice as he carried me home.
XX
Not the best ending, but it shall do. I made Mole a little unMole-like here, a little weak and stuff. Sorry for that =P Egh…nearly got a heart attack…it's 1:30 am and a cat just screamed.