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. This will be a full story, but that's where the original seed came from. Set after Kick-Ass 2. Mindy is attracted to Dave but he is still clueless. Hit Girl is 15, as per the second film. As we all seem to beg, Reviews please!

Dave entered the hospital room cautiously after I had brought myself back under control. Before he could say a word, I growled "If you ever tell anyone about that, "I gestured in the direction of the bedpan" I'll rip out your fucking balls and use them for table tennis! " He actually smiled at that. Definitely not the reaction I expected. Dave usually took my threats seriously. I realized that being covered in tears might be the problem and tried to nonchalantly wipe them away with the back of my hand. I don't think it helped. He kept grinning while I glared at him. Of course, a doctor picked that moment to join us. What was this? The crying Mindy show? Did someone sell fucking tickets?

"Oh, what the fuck now?" I asked. He seemed a bit taken aback my language, but rolled with it. I supposed that working in an ER meant he'd heard worse. "Sorry we had to knock you out while we took care of you. You started regaining consciousness as we were examining you, and, well, I'll just say you're a very strong young lady. It took two of our biggest orderlies to hold you down while we gave you the shot. Oh, you will see a charge for the broken window on your hospital bill though. I'm not sure if you remember that part. We have it on security video if you want to see it." I tried not to smile. That actually made me feel better; even half out of it, I could still put up a fight.

The doctor continued. "We kept you under until the surgery was over. It seemed safer that way. The bullet fragment was small. No brain injury is ever insignificant, but we don't think there will be any lasting damage. With any luck, you'll be just fine. But if you experience anything strange, dizziness, weakness, numbness, even problems with memory or speech, let us know right away."

I nodded back at him. I wasn't feeling all that lucky at the moment and none of those side effects sounded pleasant.

He continued. "If you have someone to take care of you, you can go home today. We don't want you walking around much for the next few days. And, let us know if anything odd happens, OK?"

"No problem, thanks for fixing my head." I told him. I guess he liked that response because he went ahead and put my chart back on the bed and walked out the door. That left me, Dave, and the nurse still in the room. I looked at Dave and couldn't resist trying to get some of my spark back. "You ready to take me home, honeybun?" Unfortunately, I didn't get as much as a blush out of him. "Sure, "he replied. "I've got everything set up at home to take care of you."

There was that "take care of me" shit again. I wasn't a damn infant. Just had a little lead to the head. Fucking sweet! It rhymed. I'd be fine on my own. I tried to sit up and the world swam before my eyes. Maybe I wouldn't be so fine. "I brought you some clothes so you don't have to go home in a hospital gown. They're a bit drafty."

"A bit?" I asked, and then continued. "Thanks. I don't think I could have handled being stuck in this room any longer. I've have had to kill someone and some pussy screaming 'code blue' wouldn't have saved them." He reached down and picked up a backpack I had missed him bringing in before. "Here are the clothes. I'll let the nurse help you. Probably safer for my health."

Given my mood, I had to agree. Dave got me checked out of the hospital, taken in a wheelchair to his car (I hate that hospital rule!) and bundled me up in the back. I sarcastically asked him where in the fuck my car seat was and he just laughed again. As we pulled away, I just stared out the window and thought about how I'd gotten here.

You see, I'd come back to the city about 2 months after we defeated the Motherfucker. Marcus had known I left; he even saw a shot of me leaving on the news. Not an actual report on me, but some cunt rag Skycam News helicopter had caught me crossing the bridge on my bike. Complete with fucking JJ Abrams lens flare and everything. The station apparently loved the shot because they now they showed it every time they went to the weather bimbo. I had looked pretty cool. Marcus had realized it was me right away and what my leaving had really meant. Admittedly the purple bike had been a bit obvious. And, once the police department decided that none of what happened had been his fault, he'd been allowed to transfer to another department across the country. I think the public aftermath of that last fight broke his spirit. He didn't try to contact me. Didn't even try my cell or my backup cell. Just packed up and left. But I'd gotten a little ahead of myself.

I had given it two months to calm down before I came back to see anyone. I figured it would be quiet enough that I could at least say hi. When I got to Marcus's place, I found a note under the rock where we kept the spare key. That wasn't a good sign, but I was nervous and just shoved it in my pocket to read later. Then, I discovered the house was empty. That felt really strange. Our home was no longer a home. Not even the furniture was left. Now I was afraid that it might be a trap so I grabbed a few irreplaceable things out of the house and got out quick. Sure the police had searched the place from top to bottom, but I'd rigged a few hiding places that no one was going to find. I packed everything up, jumped on my bike, and headed for the safe house.

Once I'd gotten in and set all the alarms, I pulled the note out of my pocket and sat down. It wasn't long. It explained how and why he left, about being cleared of charges and him seeing the fucking weather shot of me. He said didn't know and didn't even want to know if I came back. He left the note because he didn't want me to follow him. He said I was my Daddy's daughter and that Daddy had won. He was done. He needed to leave this city and me behind forever. I stared at it. He didn't even sign it. No, 'Goodbye, Marcus'. No 'Love, Marcus'. No 'Good Luck'. I ripped up the note, but the words were still tattooed on my brain. My now 'bullet scarred brain'; I had to add as we crossed the bridge and the shadows of the beams fell across me like prison bars.

I just had to sit there and accept it. Marcus was gone. And not because he had been killed. Not as part of the war or to keep someone safe, or like anything in a comic book. Then I could have avenged him. Or rescued him. I could have put him in the special place in my heart where I remembered Daddy and Mommy. But Marcus was still alive. He'd left because he never wanted to see me again. I wasn't worth all of the trouble and all of the pain. That hurt in a way I'd never felt before. "Fuck you!" I screamed at the darkness. It didn't help. Then I pulled myself together and went to find Dave.

I'd found him rather easily. He was living alone in his house, finishing school and keeping in shape. He made up big fuss over me, got a room put together, got me fed, and then let me sleep. It was all the things that Marcus would have done if he hadn't pussied out. I wanted someone, anyone, to take care of me. Marcus was gone, and for the first time ever, I didn't have a father type person. Dave would have to do.

Two months on my own had taught me that even though I was Hit Girl, living on my own sucked. What's the point of taking down some fucking scumbag drug dealer or throwing 5 knives in a one inch circle if you didn't have someone to share it? Someone to boast to, someone to tease, just someone to sit with at the end of the night before I went to bed. Someone to share cocoa with. I'd never been alone. It was horrid. And, so, I didn't mind Dave taking care of me. At least at first.