No One Takes Down Hit Girl But Hit Girl

Inspired by Makokam, especially the challenge where Mindy was supposed to be confined to bed rest for 24 hours. (Although this is a full story, not a 24 hour piece.) Set post movie 2. I like that movie 2 made her 15 so I'm using that. Dave can think of her as a child, or as a sister, but I need for her to be a bit closer to his age. I'm sure all of you that enjoy these stories won't have a problem figuring out what's going on. As we all seem to beg, Reviews please! Total edit and repost. A bit of a chapter adjustment but not too much.

"Ow."

That's what Dave claimed I said. I didn't manage a "Fuck!" or a "Cocksucker!" or even some drawn out scream of rage. Not even an emphatic "OW!" I just said "Ow" quietly and collapsed onto the street. Then I woke up in the hospital after they had performed surgery on my brain.

Apparently, I'd been hit in the head by a ricochet from my own fucking gun. At least, that's what Dave and I thought. I had just taken a shot at some sleezebag and neither one of us saw or heard anyone else with a gun. So mine was the only bullet flying. The doctors removed part of a bullet from my head and luckily it hadn't hit anything important. Well, I guess my brain was important but the bullet didn't damage my actual brain tissue. And uckily, there wasn't enough left of the bullet that they could match it to the slugs I'd put into a bunch of crack dealers the night before. Since it had no use as evidence, they gave it to me as a souvenir.

I've got to remember to change my guns out more often. If that CSI show is even remotely true, the police are way too good at matching up that type of shit.

Yes, that's right. Hit Girl had not been taken out by a bad guy, a drug dealer, or a super villain. I'd managed to shoot myself in the head. Seriously, I shot myself in the head. That kind of needs to be said twice. I'm not sure how long the experience would take to get from really fucking frustrating to admitting that it was pretty funny. But in no way was I anywhere near that. Dave had tried to make bit of joke out of it, maybe to cut the tension. If I could have attacked him from out of this bed, I would have.

Stupidly, I was still a little pissed off and ashamed about the 'ow'. It wasn't all that superhero like to sound like some kid who had poked her finger. But, I guess you didn't really get to choose your exit line. We hadn't gotten a lot of time to talk yet, but Dave had managed to give me enough of the lie he told so that I didn't totally fuck up. I was supposed to claim that I'd been attacked, but the thugs hadn't managed to rape me or anything before Kick-Ass had shown up. Dave said he'd had to strip me half nude before he could safely bring me into the emergency room so that was the best story he could come up with. He had dropped me off as Kick-Ass and claimed he found me in a dark alley. Then he disappeared while they were worrying about me. Finally, he returned as Dave, a concerned friend who was there to identify me.

I couldn't fault the plan. If he had brought me in with weapons, armor, and purple hair, I might have survived the bullet wound but then ended up as the first 15 year old girl on Death Row. The police really wanted to catch me since I've made them look like a bunch of pussies on the news. Hell, maybe I wouldn't have even lived that long. I'd made a lot of enemies and a hospital room was pretty easy to sneak into. They killed Dave's dad in jail right under the noses of the guards. I'd have been easy to snuff. I had to give Dave credit for thinking of it while blood was pouring out of my head.

I still can't believe I missed Dave stripping me. Fuck that would have been fun. Oh, I suppose I should have been thinking about other things, but I was still kind of floating on all the drugs they have me on so I was just thinking about it all happy like. With me all purple like and then the purple being taken off by a green person, leaving me all pink like, then the green person starting to take off the green and then the two pink people kind of meshing. The sound of the door opening shook me out of my daydream. Dave came in. I blushed a bright crimson as I recalled my dream. I fucking hate blushing. I have an amazing poker face but I can't control a blush. I guess it was better than being a guy, because Dave would have been able to see how excited I was through this thin hospital gown. It would have been tent city.

"Why are you blushing?" he asked. "I mean, you never blush."

In panic, I quickly decided to trade one embarrassment for another. " I, umm, I need to go – umm – to the bathroom. And, I don't know, like, umm, I mean, I can't get up and… Could you call a fucking nurse please?"

Yes, I said please. I was panicking, OK?

I was interrupted by machines beeping loudly nearby and someone in the next room yelled "Code Blue! Code Blue!"

It was at this point that I realized that my excuse wasn't bullshit. I really did need to pee. Desperately. Like, my back teeth were floating kind of thing. I kind of twisted myself to look out the window in the door. It appeared that everyone in the ward had descended on the one cocksucker attempting to die in the next room. "Dave – a nurse?! I really need to... Please?! "

Fuck, there I was with the wimpy 'please' again.

He pressed the call nurse button and then tried to flag down one of the nurses in the hallway. She was extremely short with him when he asked for help. "Is she dying?" the nurse asked. Dave stammered out a "No" and the nurse replied "Well, then she'll have to wait." I somehow managed to resist screaming "Cunt!" at her as she hurried next door. I'm not quite sure how.

I mean, I didn't want the guy to fucking die, but I needed help. FEMALE HELP! I mean, I didn't care if Dave saw me naked as a jaybird, but this was different. Dave looked back at me, his face a study in fear. My mind froze. I'd had to make hundreds, maybe thousands of life or death decisions in an instant. Who do I attack first, what is the best counter to an attack, when to duck and when to charge in. All of those decisions I made in less than a tenth of a second. But it took forever to decide that pissing the bed was infinitely worse than asking Dave for help. I managed a kind of inarticulate scream of rage, then growled very quietly "Dave, get me the fucking bedpan." He stared at me for a moment, like a pedophile does at one of my knives sticking out of his crotch. That look hurt. "Grab it!" I command.

As he turned to get it, I tried to arch myself up so he could slide it under me. I barely moved. Apparently the drugs meant that my muscles were for shit. My voice cracked some as I told him to lift me up, and then I barely managed to ask him to make sure the goddamn gown was out of the way before I had to let loose. He held me but turned his head to give me what privacy he could.

I'd like to put this more delicately ('cause, you know, I'm really fucking good at that…) but I proceeded to piss like a racehorse. And the fucking pan was metal, which means it was cold on my ass and the sound echoed out of it. It was not a sound that either of us could ignore, although we both really fucking tried. I finished and he turned back, eased it out from under me, and then lowered me back down to the bed. He tried to mumble something about wiping. Oh shit. That would be more than I could handle. I mumbled back something about drip drying. I lay back and closed my eyes; I tried to pretend this hadn't happened. I couldn't believe I needed help to pee. I was terrified at the fact that I couldn't take care of such a basic task. I helped people. They didn't help me. And, after my earlier sexy daydream, I couldn't help thinking that this had been the least sexy experience I'd ever had. And it was with Dave. Dave and I had had some bad experiences, so that was saying something. It was yet another reason for him to think of me as a child. Shit. Maybe I was just a child…

Eventually, the fucker next door decided he wasn't going to die right this minute and the nurse came back to check on me. She yelled at Dave for moving me and then shoved him out the door so she could clean me up. She gave me an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, honey. I mean, couldn't you have waited a little longer?" When she saw the shame in my eyes that I couldn't hide, she sighed. "Oh dear. I guess you couldn't. Poor baby." She finished getting me settled, and then when she turned to go, I started to fucking cry. I mean, seriously bawl. I couldn't stop. I'd never been this helpless, this weak, this needy! And for it to be in front of Dave who I knew was waiting outside until he could come back in… Fuck!

After a few minutes of trying to comfort me, the nurse asked if I wanted her to let Dave back in. Again, it took me forever to decide. I was so confused. No one, not even my daddy, was allowed to see me cry like this. Well, not after about age 4 or so. Every frigging baby cried, they couldn't help it. But by the time I was four, I'd heard enough speeches from Daddy on being a tough girl that I was too proud to let him see me upset. I might not have been Hit Girl yet, but damn it, no one got to see me vulnerable. Even when Daddy died, I didn't cry like this. I screamed. I yelled. I pushed the pain down to make an even more solid rock to stand on. Oh well, what was a bit more shame on top of everything else that had happened. I motioned for her to let him in.