notes:
+ *makes sad snuffly noises*
+ this was written by listening to my "ouch" mix, and slumping sadly against my keyboard.
+ title from "possibility" by lykke li.
He's leaning on her, which isn't great, because he feels twice the size and is totally unable, in that moment, of supporting himself. Raina presses a hand to the bullet hole in his chest, and hears him hiss through his teeth.
'Sorry,' she murmurs. 'I need to get pressure on it. You've lost a lot of blood.'
He nods, but doesn't have the energy to reply. They reach her lab and she lets him down onto the bed in the corner. He slumps back against the wall.
She finds her medical kit and pulls out a roll of bandage. He should be okay. This has happened before. This has happened before and he's survived. She's fixed it.
This has happened a lot, actually. He's good at getting hurt.
He's good at making sure she doesn't get hurt.
She lifts up his shirt, wipes away what blood she can, and tries to bind up the wound as best as she can.
(She's seen bullet wounds before, including many in him, but this looks worse, somehow. Gaping and bloody and terrible.)
'I just need to take some scans now,' she murmurs. 'Okay?'
He nods slowly, eyes slightly glazed over, slowly letting go of her hand.
She moves quickly round the lab, hooking him up to machines and performing tests.
His eyes are starting to close.
'No,' she says. 'No, don't sleep.'
He frowns. 'Tired,' he protests.
She smiles shakily. 'I know. But you can't sleep.' She takes his hand again, trying not to think about how warm it is.
'Why not?' he complains hoarsely.
She takes a breath. 'Because it'll hurt more.'
'But...' He frowns, struggling to stay conscious for her. 'But you can't feel when you're sleeping.'
'I didn't say who it would hurt,' she murmurs, knowing he's too far gone to really hear her.
Something beeps urgently, and she moves away from him to check it. His scans are complete, illuminated on the screens around the lab.
They show bullet is still inside his body, lodged in next to his ribs, but the bones haven't been shattered. That's okay. That's good. That just needs surgery, stitches and rest to fix.
But there's something else. Something in his blood work.
Poison.
She sets her computer to run more tests on his blood, to look for an antidote.
She has to keep him awake, but until she can come up with something to take counter the poison, she might as well try to lessen the pain.
She fills a syringe with painkillers: strong, but not strong enough to knock him out.
'This is going to sting,' she tells him. He doesn't respond, but his eyes flick to her, which she takes as recognition of her words.
She pulls his sleeve up to just past his elbow. She has to take a second to stop her hands from shaking before she can slip the needle into a vein.
(It was never supposed to end up like this. She wasn't supposed to care so much.)
He grumbles slightly when she pulls it out, but within a few minutes she can see a little more life in him.
(The machines tell a different story: she's masked the problem, not even slightly fixed it.)
'Have you...' He pushes himself up again, grunting slightly with the effort. 'Have you… fixed me now then.' He tries to smile. It's bloody and looks like an effort, but better than any of her attempts so far.
She manages a laugh. 'Not yet. Those here just to ease the pain. But I'm working on it,' she says. 'I believe there was poison coating the bullet.' Her eyes flick to the screen across the room, which shows analysis 74% complete.
'But you can fix it?' He's trying to keep the worry from his voice, but she knows better. She knows him.
'Would you doubt me?'
His hand circles round his wrist and tugs her down onto the bed next to him. He leans forwards to brush a curl from her face. 'Thank you,' he says.
She shakes her head. 'I just need to keep my best soldier healthy. I don't know where I'd be without you.' She tries to laugh, to play it off as a little joke.
'I mean it,' he says, his finger under her chin, forcing her to look up at him. 'You always save me.'
She smiles, one corner of her mouth pulling up. He would know it was fake if he wasn't in such a bad state. 'Well,' she says. 'I do my best.'
The computer beeps. Analysis complete.
She pulls herself away from him and slips off the bed. Her heels click as she crosses the lab.
Antidote construction unsuccessful.
She scrolls down. There's got to be something she can do.
She always saves him.
She has to.
'What's the prognosis?' he asks from the other side of the room.
Raina picks up a tablet, moving back to him. 'You'll be fine,' she says.
'Promise?' His eyelids are drooping again, his voice tired, and she can see he mix of poison and painkillers trying to drag him under.
'Of course,' she says, and it stings more than it should. 'I just need to go collect some supplies.'
His hand grabs hers and holds on tight. 'Don't go.'
'I have to,' she says. 'Or I can't get you better.'
His shoulders slump. 'Be quick.'
'I'll try,' she says.
Slowly, he lets go of her hand.
'Stay awake?' she asks. 'For me?'
He nods. 'I'll try.'
She leans forwards, pressing a kiss to his lips and trying not to think about how hot, how feverish he feels.
Only when she has left the room and stepped out into the dark corridor, only when she has heard the door closing behind her and knows that he can't hear her does she let herself break. She leans back against the wall, closes her eyes, and presses the back of her hand against her lips to stifle any sound.
She can't save him.