Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from, I was just playing around with my thoughts and my writing. So, don't expect much. However, just so you know, I'm more of a Megan/Peter fan.

Disclaimer- I don't own it. Not even close.

Thunder, Lightening, and One Hell of a Storm: One-

The sound of the gunshot was like thunder, only sharper. Maybe what thunder would sound like if you had been struck by lightening. For one infinitesimal moment, Megan wondered if that wasn't precisely what had happened as the blast reverberated painfully through her skull and the kickback of the weapon shook her hands. Then her mind kicked away the irrational thought and snapped her back to reality.

It was somehow a surprise to her to see the bullet wound blossom on Wilson's shoulder. Based on its positioning, if it didn't hit bone it might even pass through the chest cavity. She might have just killed someone. Even if it was Wilson... she felt like throwing up.

She hissed as her hands went numb, sending a tingling pain up her arms. The gun clattered as it hit the ground, released thanks to her slackened grasp. Shocked, she watched as Peter flipped Wilson over the side. To see Wilson's legs disappear over the ledge, was like missing a step in a staircase. Her stomach dropped and it almost hurt to breath. But Peter... was Peter okay? She stumbled forward a few steps, mindlessly using the doorjamb to keep herself on her feet.

In even slower motion than the rest of it had been, Peter turned around. Her steps faltered as her eyes fell on the Egyptian hook protruding from Peter's abdomen. "Oh my god." She breathed.

Peter's legs folded under him.

"Oh my god, Peter!" She rushed to him. "Peter! Come on." Placing her tingling hands under his shoulders, she hauled on his heavy body. Something inside her was screaming at her not to let him lay down. Not to let him fall.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay." Peter got out, voice too strained to make it convincing.

Her hands moved to the wound, but they were still of no use to her, so instead, she clutched him to her. "Peter, come on, it's going to be okay." Her eyes closed on tears. "It's okay, it's okay." Her arms wrapped around him even tighter. "You hear me?"

He didn't answer.

"Peter?" Her voice shook. Fumbling, she reached down and searched his pockets. Yes, she knew it. His cell phone was always in his front pocket. Trying to ignore the pain lacing its way up her arms, she forced her bloodied fingers to dial 911. Peering at the wound, she tried to make an educated guess at exactly what had been hit. The large intestine, pancreas, and stomach were the ones in the most danger. She relaid this over the phone, unsure when the operator had even picked up, but slightly reassured by his voice.

Finally, she pulled out from under Peter. Her knees slid through the growing pool of blood, turning her stomach. It was like being in triage, only worse because it... it was Peter. Her hands were working again, at least well enough to apply pressure. Her hand tore his shirt away from the wound to get a better look. There was too much blood. She tore off her shirt, cursing that it was a gauzy thing that would not be very absorbent, wrapped it around the protruding hook and again applied pressure. "You're going to be okay, do you hear me? You are not going to die. You are not going to die for me!" She knew she was screeching at him, but couldn't stop herself. "Don't you remember what you said? You told me you were done looking out for me." She hung her head, the words stinging even now, when he had so clearly saved her life. "So you can't die. I won't let you. I'm looking forward to not having you prying into my personal life, so hold on! Just..." Tears started silently flowing down her cheeks. "Just hold on."