She didn't sputter, didn't give away the fact that her lungs had begun to complain about their lack of air. She may have been consigned to living, but she wasn't going to let anyone know how close she had come to giving up. She exhaled, one long, slow sigh of breath, then inhaled fresh air into her lungs, once. Then she looked up at whoever had possessed the audacity to pull her out of the pool.
She looked up first, then down. Meryl was leaning into the pool, filling a cup with water.
"What the hell was that?" she asked her, waspishly.
"You were in the way," came Meryl's response, delivered in much the same tone of voice.
Kiley blinked, hard, then looked over toward where the plants congregated. Ace was awake and half sitting up, leaning against Knives' chest. She looked very pale, and still quite sick. Knives held her protectively while Vash looked on, worried. As she watched, Ace assayed a smile, and she saw some tension slide out of his shoulders. Kiley blinked again, then looked back at Meryl, watched her take the cup back to Ace.
Knives took it from her hand, then placed it to Ace's lips. Something twisted in Kiley's stomach as she watched. It was something that went beyond jealousy, because it wasn't directed at Ace. It was something that went beyond want, as merely saying she desired it demeaned what she felt. Craved it, maybe, like an addict needed the next dose of their drug. Or like lungs ached for their next breath of air. The need was so strong that it overtook reason, overtook rationality, and moved into a clear, blind rage.
How dare they. She fought down the feeling, hating it, hating that she needed someone, anyone. She denied the desire, pushing it down deep inside her, burying it under layers of pain and distrust.
Fine, she told herself. They don't care. I don't care either. I don't need them or their caring; I am strong enough to do without them. And even if I were not, I'd rather die than accept their help. She growled, low and under her breath, more a rumbling deep in her chest than a noise.
She shrugged her shoulders, trying to dispel some of the emotion that raged through her. The pull of the shirt against her back, half stuck to the drying blood, motivated her to move. Suddenly she didn't want anyone to see how badly she had been hurt, to see just how nearly fatal Meryl's bullet had been. They might decide to care at that point, and she wasn't sure enough of her decision to hate them, unsure it would last if they decided to acknowledge that she, too, had been hurt.
She pushed herself to her feet and slowly managed to walk over to her bag. She pulled her shirt off as she walked, testing her balance, glad she didn't fall as she tried to do two things at once. She balled the shirt up, then used the resulting handful to rub at the mess left on her back. She winced a bit as she accidentally brushed too hard against the freshly healed skin. She knew that she was making a mess of her back, more smearing the blood about than actually cleaning it off. As long as she cleaned off enough that the rest would not show through whatever shirt she put on next she was happy.
Leaning down, she pulled out whatever shirt was closest to the top and wriggled into it. The now completely ruined shirt was shoved into the farthest recesses of her bag. She felt a soft pang as she pushed it away. It was the first shirt that she had bought on this planet, and as such had held a soft place in her heart. She shook her head. It was cloth and thread, nothing more. Nothing to get worked up over losing.
She turned and stood, looked over at the drama that she wished she could ignore. Then she blinked, struck by a thought. Why should she go over there? They obviously didn't need her. She was superfluous, unnecessary. With a sniff she sat down again. Let them come over here if they cared to talk to her. Not that they would.
She closed her eyes, incredibly weary. Sleep sounded incredibly good, but her thoughts raged too much to let her rest. She had been shot. She had been shot trying to defend another life. Ace had been trying to kill Meryl. So who got all the attention? The kid, of course. It made her toy with the idea of shooting Meryl then passing out, just to see what would happen.
She sighed, then pursued a line of thought she wished she didn't have to. A plant. How could she not have seen it? Were there no clues? She thought back, then winced. Of course there were. Why, when she had first placed that family under a stasis field, that night that Knives had finally caught up to her. She should not have been able to do that. She had been constantly overestimating how tired she was at the ends of these things, but had passed off the shortened recovery times as a result of a fresh young body. Everything here had seemed bright and fresh, full of opportunity. If she was a little better, a little faster, well, it had fit in so well.
What a fool she was. She should have known, should have found out somehow, earlier. Now what was she supposed to do? The entire plants/humans problem took on an entirely new dimension for her. Brothers… sisters… were they hers? Would they disown her as some sort of freak, or would they accept her? She snorted. Probably the later, but what would she do if it were the former?
And now how was she supposed to stop Knives? Just opposing him didn't work; look at Vash. They both battled on, neither one giving in to the other. Knives wasn't going to stop his crusade just because she wanted him to quit. She shook her head, confused, looking at the unsolvable dilemma from another angle and still coming up blank.