So I was tired of writing fluff for my other story because I'm not generally a fluffy writer... and then this happened.
Disclaimer: I own nothing from Warehouse 13. Nothing. (Besides this story.)
This is written from Claudia's point of view.
I open my eyes and things are blurry. I can't focus. What happened? I'm trying to remember, but it's like I'm in a fog. I have to think. I need to focus and figure out why I can't move. Every breath makes me feel like my lungs are on fire. Squinting my eyes, I realize I'm upside down. Why am I upside down? I turn my head slightly. My heart skips a beat and I want to scream at what I see, but all I can do is stare. Steve is by my side, bleeding from the head, unconscious.
"S-Steve?" The effort it takes to choke out his name causes me to retreat back into the pitch-dark clouds that had been billowing in the sides of my vision.
When I open my eyes next, I'm moving; being lifted out of the car and strapped onto a gurney. It's too much. I can't stand restraints, and I want to escape, but I can't even say anything, much less move. Everything hurts. Where's Steve? I try to say his name, but my tongue is sticky, and my voice won't work. I'm having trouble getting enough oxygen, and my lungs burn as I fight for air.
"Hey, you were in an car accident, and we're bringing you to the hospital, okay?"
I try to acknowledge the EMT, but end up just blinking my eyes slowly. My eyes still won't focus. They load me into an ambulance and I start to go to sleep again.
"Stay with me." The med stands over me. "I need you to try to stay awake, okay?" Someone puts an oxygen mask on me, and I feel a sharp sting in my arm. Things are getting increasingly blurry.
"Hey," his voice becomes unnaturally slow, " stay with me."
I can't keep awake any longer, and I sink into the embrace of the blackness again.
"Can you hear me? Try to wake up, okay hun?"
The first thing of which I become aware is the tube down my throat. It's attached to a ventilator, which is breathing for me. I choke against the tube, and suddenly there's a hand on my arm.
"I know you're really uncomfortable, sweetie, but I need you to write down your name and the number of a parent or other family member we can contact. Can you do that?"
I try to speak, but find myself gagging at the breathing tube again.
"Here," the nurse presses a pen in my left hand. I look over to my right arm and find it in a cast from fingers to above the elbow, then shakily write down my name and Artie's name and number. The nurse puts something into the IV going into my left arm, and soon I drift off to sleep again.