hey! no, this story is not dead. you might had thought it was, but it's not. i love this story too much to give it up. but i have to warn you, there might be a gap between this chapter and the previous ones. i think my writing has evolved (a lot?) during those four/five months? also it's a lot longer than the previous ones. oh, and there's a pov swap in the middle! i hope you'll enjoy it! thanks for reading!
chapter three : wounds
I sighed as I scrubbed out of my last surgery. After three weeks here, I had realized that every single day was pretty much the same. A chaos of cutting, stitching, clamping, saving lives. It was exhausting, and most of the time, we barely had the time for breaks, but I certainly wasn't going to complain. It was paradoxical, but this perpetual chaos was somehow bringing me a balance. I didn't have a second to sit down and think about what my life was now, or what had happened to me last month. It was exactly what I wanted. I didn't need to think about it, and I certainly didn't want to.
I threw a look around the tent, trying to spot an ongoing surgery where I could sneak in. A familiar red hair catched my eye, and I quickly looked away. I've been avoiding Hunt as much as I could, after my half-confession that I wished to die. I still couldn't believe I said that. I couldn't believe I said something that was buried so deep in me to someone I knew so little.
I sighed and just gave up on the idea of finding a surgery and decided to grab some lunch instead. I wiped my hands and was about to head out, until I heard a blur of loud noises outside. I wasn't sure to recognize every sound. There were screams, I was sure of that, at least, but I wasn't completely sure about the rest, or rather I wished it wasn't what I was thinking about. It was a rattled, loud, violent noise. I looked behind me for a few seconds, at my colleagues, hoping that their gazes would tell me that I was wrong. Instead, the pair of icy blue eyes I met were filled with the same fear as mine, and I quickly turned away, towards the entrance of the tent. The flip lifted open, and I realized that I was right: the person now facing us was a man holding a gun, and within seconds, he had started shooting freely inside the OR tent.
He started by shooting at my coworkers, and I opened my mouth to scream, but nothing came out of my dry throat. I wanted to turn around and check on them, but I couldn't. I wanted to scream, move, I knew I had to jump away and find some cover, but I couldn't. There was nothing I could do. The gravity felt twice as heavy as usual, like a cold fluid of fear surrounding my body and preventing me from moving.
The time froze, like an icy needle of pure horror in my heart. I could see the bullets flowing closer and closer to me in slow motion. I was feeling colder and colder, more terrified every second, my mind trapped in an overwhelming storm of feelings. So many different emotions mixing and clashing against each other inside my lost mind. Fear, horror, regrets, anger. The faintest hint of relief. Every single nerve on my body was buzzing with anticipation.
Releasing the breath I was holding slowly but shakily, my eyes met those of the shooter. A mischievous and superior grin spread on his face, as if I was nothing more than a prey for him. A deer watching the headlights of the car about to run it down. His hand playing with the trigger and with my ragged nerves. The storm scattering me faded away, and two feelings emerged from the rest, two thoughts loud and clear in my mind.
This is what you've been waiting for.
I don't want to die.
The shooter's grin enlarged, and I could see his finger moving, barely, but enough to pull the trigger.
The world that had previously stopped brutally relapsed in an adrenaline rush, going even faster than it was supposed to. Even the last thoughts I was holding on evaporated into thin air, leaving my mind completely blank. Only waiting for the impact. I closed my eyes, and the gunshot noise reverberated through the tent.
It didn't hurt me like I thought it would. I expected a sharp, piercing pain, or maybe nothing because I would've just dropped dead on the spot. Instead, it felt like I was tacked to the ground, and my head hit it with a loud thump. I stayed still for a few seconds, eyes still closed, breathing shaky, waiting for the pain to come, but it never did, and it wasn't normal. I could feel a weight above me, but not the kind I could've expected. I thought I would be lying on the ground, gasping for my breath and struggling to even stay conscious, but I wasn't. Instead, I was almost feeling good, safe, like under a warm blanket. I never thought dying would feel like that.
The second I opened my eyes, I realized I couldn't be mistaken more. I wasn't feeling any pain because the bullet had missed me, and the only reason it had was because Hunt had tackled me onto the ground and saved me. I hadn't seen him getting closer, but I was so focused on the shooter that it wasn't that surprising. There he was though, his body hovering over mine, almost touching but not really, just enough to make my heart race madly, the warmth of his body burning mine. His face so close to mine, our eyes locked.
The time had slowed down again, in the opposite way as it just had. Spreading rather than freezing. A few seconds out of time and reality, seeming to last forever. Caught in this moment, I couldn't do anything but stare at him, and suddenly I realized that he's much more beautiful than I ever thought. I had already noticed his sharp blue eyes and his bright red hair, but I had never really paid attention to the fact that his features were flawless. Enough to make my heart skip a beat.
It felt so surreal, I was wondering for a second if I wasn't hallucinating. It would make so much sense, in a way, because I couldn't imagine a reason why he would've wanted to protect me. I was just the annoying new coworker that was constantly pushing him away, which certainly didn't put me on top of the list of people he'd sacrifice his life for.
"- Why did you protect me?" I whispered almost involuntarily. We hadn't moved an inch, and he was so close that his warmth and his smell were almost intoxicating, clouding my thoughts. His eyes were looking at me like they were able to read directly into my soul, making me feel exposed and vulnerable, and I wasn't able to tell if it was something I liked or not. He stayed silent for a handful of seconds, before whispering an answer.
"- I don't… I don't know."
Then the silence fell again. We still weren't moving, almost unaware of what was happening around. I wished it could last forever, because I was feeling safe and in peace, and I hadn't felt like that for an eternity. Not since…
My mind stopped right before I thought of the name, and I blinked and finally turned my gaze away. The feelings dissipated almost instantly, this fleeting moment broken. I lowered my eyes, and I realized that his shirt was getting drenched in blood.
"- Hunt, you're injured," I told him, and I carefully lifted the hem of his shirt, exposing the flesh and the wound tearing it. My chest tightened when I realized that given the angle, the only moment he could've gotten it was when he came to save me.
"- That's nothing," he answered, putting his shirt back and getting up. "I can deal with that later."
"- Nothing?" I said, following his example and getting back on my feet, only realizing that someone had taken down the shooter while we were spacing out. "You need surgery to remove that bullet."
"- We don't have time for that! It's a superficial wound, I'll be just fine. Meanwhile, there's people outside of this tent that need more pressing treatment than I do! They need our help, and now!"
"- Okay, but at least…"
Without even letting me finish my sentence, he took my hand and dragged me outside of the tent with him. The sun striked my eyes, as did the picture of devastation that spread out before me. Multiple wounded soldiers left and right, people screaming for help, so many things jumping at me that I didn't know what to do. I was frozen in place again, but before I could pull myself together, or even take a breath, Owen was already dragging me towards one of the victims. I lifelessly followed, feeling completely lost and overwhelmed by everything that had just happened.
The second we kneeled next to the victim, I let my surgeon's instincts kick in. We evaluated the wound and almost immediately moved him to an OR. Then, another kind of chaos took place, one that I was more familiar with. A surgical chaos. I had barely finished operating on my patient with Hunt when I was already called in for another one, without any room to breathe in between. I spent the rest of the day and most of the night, cutting, stitching, closing, and everything in between.
When the last surgery was finally done, I felt tired like I had rarely been before. The emotions of the day were still contained at bay, but threatening to break through my mental barriers at any second. So when I saw Hunt also washing his hands after finishing his own surgery, I aimed almost unconsciously at him. I didn't want him to be my friend. I didn't think I was strong enough at the moment to allow myself to make friends. At the end of this day, though, I just wanted someone by my side to comfort me, to share this weight I was struggling to carry.
He smiled when he saw me coming his way. I smiled back at him. Then he collapsed.
In a few seconds, I was next to him, calling out for help. Some of our coworkers helped me get him into an OR, brought me blood, and within a few minutes I was cutting into his skin to remove that bullet. Fortunately, it was superficial and hadn't touched any organs, so I was able to remove it easily, but letting it untreated for hours definitely didn't help.
Luckily, the surgery happened without any complications, and I was grateful, because I wasn't sure I would've been able to handle them. When I finally scrubbed out the surgery, what little strength I had left disappeared, leaving me hanging by a thread. I felt so close to breaking down in pieces right here and now, but I couldn't, not in front of everyone. I looked around for a place where I could be alone, but there were people everywhere. I breathed in and out a few times, trying to calm me down, but it didn't seem effective at all.
I felt so alone at that moment, looking around and seeing everyone in small groups, talking, seeking a little bit of comfort in company. I really wished I had made myself some friends here, but all I could see was anonymous faces. Loneliness suddenly felt like a cold and oppressing cage, isolating me from everyone else but being the shelter I had chosen to protect me against another hit I couldn't possibly take. Still, I wished someone would care for me, see me panicking and ask me how I'm feeling, but no one did. No one was the saving hand in the middle of the sea where I was drowning, made of my own thoughts. A picture flashed under my closed lids, the face of the only one who could've actually helped me, but right now, I was on my own.
I was almost running, my brain working at full speed, until I reached the ICU, and my eyes met a particular door. I knew that no one would come into this room before a while, and the person inside it might be the only one who, maybe, wouldn't be bothered by my presence. I quickly opened the door and got inside, then laid against the wall, sliding down until I touched the ground, and put my head between my knees. I tried to take several deep breaths, but they were all shaky.
The events I had pushed back in my mind were coming back now, over and over, in flashes and echoes, crushing me under their weight. The cruel eyes of the shooter, and his smile, bringing along the feeling of pure horror. The gunshot noise, still echoing on my eardrums and reminding me that I wasn't the one who got hurt. The chaotic scene we discovered outside, and the piercing screams, and the worst part was that it was bound to happen again, and I didn't know if it was something I could take.
This is what you've been waiting for. The single thought I had on that only moment of clarity emerged back from the pain. I couldn't help but think that it was what should've happened. I should've died here, and everything would have been over, and I wouldn't be here trying to get through the pain and the fear. These dark, twisted feelings were here, in my mind, and I couldn't get them out, but at the same time, they were terrifying me. Facing death, today, was clearly one of the scariest things I had ever experienced.
Guilt, too, was starting to rear its ugly head. The way Hunt had gotten hurt because of me was bringing back memories I would've rather avoided. It wasn't the first time that my actions were leading to terrible consequences.
I was lost, and torn. The path had seemed so obvious to me just weeks before, and the more time passed, the more it was becoming right and wrong at the same time. The cracks in my heart were stronger than ever, and I wondered if things would ever be better. I wondered if I could bear with the loneliness, or if it would ruin me a million times more.
Eventually, I lost track of the time passing. The moonlight was still pouring through the window, and nothing had changed since I entered the room. Even the constant beeping of the monitor was still the same, steady, consistent, and somehow reassuring.
Eventually, my tears finally stopped falling. I took a long breath, and despite the fact that it was still shaking, the air finally seemed to get to my lungs correctly.
I had done it. I overcame the pain and the doubts, even if I perfectly knew that the peace and the truce were only temporary, and so fragile that they could be broken at any second, but they were here. I still wasn't fine, and I hadn't fixed any of my problems, but at least, I was able to function again. I could do it, survive on my own, because I was even more certain that the path I had chosen was the only possible one for me. I couldn't make any friends here, because I wouldn't be able to survive the loss of anyone else.
When I woke up, multiple sensations overwhelmed my senses. First, the dazzling sunlight pouring through the window on my left, aggressing my eyelids, and the whiteness of the ceiling above my head. Then, a more unexpected one, the soft noise of rustling paper, coming from my right. I slowly turned my face towards that noise and instantly recognized the person sitting there, golden hair otherworldly gleaming under the light of dawn. She was probably charting, given that she was writing something in a chart, and some others were piled up right beside her.
I stared at her for a few more seconds until she lifted up her head, her gaze getting lost into space, then noticing me, awake, and the fleeting smile she gave me was absolutely soft and beautiful, despite not even lasting a full second. She switched the chart she was holding and got up in a swift motion, and I couldn't help but notice that the happiness she had shown a few seconds before and the shine that had illuminated her eyes were now completely gone, like a lamp turned off.
"- Owen Hunt," she said, flipping through the chart she had just picked up.
"- You know, if you wanted to know my first name, you could've just asked," I pointed out, and she chuckled, but it wasn't enough to light up the starless night in her eyes, this time. "Anyway, what were you doing here? Not waiting for me to wake up, I assume."
"- Calm places are almost impossible to find here," she simply answered, and I smiled at her.
"- I know a few. I'd be glad to share them with you."
She smiled back, and I thought she was going to accept, but just before she did, her expression darkened, and she shook her head from left to right.
"- You don't have to. It's your spots, after all. I wouldn't want to bother."
"- You wouldn't be."
She just shook her head and didn't answer anything. There was only silence between us as she checked my wound and my vitals, and once she was done, she simply walked towards the door, but just before leaving, she turned around, and she spoke again, her voice shaking in an almost unnoticeable way.
"- Does it happen a lot? Having your co-workers almost dying like that?"
"- Not that much, but more than enough," I said, memories of last year coming back. How I saw many familiar faces getting hurt or dying, and some friends too. I could still remember the first shooting I witnessed, the blood-tainted memories of my first friends in the army.
One thing, especially, came to my mind, from that first shooting. I could recall the whole thing much better than I wished. I could easily remember everyone's faces, the patient, its injury. I could too easily relive the moment when, suddenly, we had heard a gunshot, and in the blink of an eye, the guy next to me was down on the ground. It was his eyes, though, that were burned under my eyelids, hunting me in the middle of sleepless nights. The expression he had when he realized he was going to die here and now. He had looked at me and blinked a few times, his eyes looking like they were saying "so, this is how i'm going to die?" The other thing that I had been unable to forget was that feeling that it could've been me so easily. If I had just, for any reason, had been on the left instead of on the right… I would've died instead of him. That moment, I realized how our lives were hanging by a single, fragile thread, which could break so easily at any given second. It had haunted me so much, I had barely been able to sleep the whole following week.
Coming back from my memories, I suddenly realized the reason behind that question. I finally saw… that she must be as broken right now as I was when it happened to me.
"- Altman. Are you okay?" I asked.
"- Yes. Yes, I am," she answered, but way too fast for it to feel natural.
"- No, you're not," I said, my earlier thought confirmed. "It's my fault, right? After the shooting… I just dragged you with me, and… I didn't even let you time to take in what had happened."
"- It's not your fault," she tried to reassure me, but I just knew it was a white lie. "You were just trying to save lives."
"- It is, though. I mean… I still remember how… shocking it is, the first time. I wish I didn't remember it… but I do. I remember absolutely everything I felt, and... I wasn't fine either. I wasn't fine at all. So, no… I shouldn't have dragged you in here without checking if you were okay first. I should've let you… take some time before dragging you with me. I should have known better."
"- It's fine. I mean… Obviously not, I'm not fine... " She paused. "But you weren't okay either. This time, I mean. That's why you literally ran outside helping people. You were dealing with this… in your own way."
I was taken aback twice in one sentence. The first time because I had never, in our few conversations, heard her admit so honestly and so simply that she wasn't okay, and it was such a hard thing to do that I couldn't help but be admirative at the strength that it implied. The second because, despite her own pain, she had managed to analyze and understand me perfectly despite the very few things I had told her.
"- You're right," I finally said, "but honestly… do you think that anyone could be fine? How can you… face a shooter and everything that it implies, and then not feel anything? I couldn't. You couldn't. I don't think any of those guys in the OR with me could, and that shouldn't be something we should be ashamed of."
The silence fell around us, both not knowing what to say anymore. She was still standing near the door frame and despite the distance between us, it was the closest I had felt with her since I had met her. She was still standing there, biting her lip, clearly hesitating about something.
"- What is?" I asked her, and she sighed before taking a step forward.
"- There's just something… that doesn't make sense. Why… why did you risk your life to protect me? I just… I just don't get it."
"- I don't know. Why wouldn't I?" I asked back, unable to figure out what she meant, or rather, what she wanted to hear. I had known her for three weeks, and the more I learned to know her, the more confused I was.
"- Because we're nothing. Not friends. Barely co-workers. So why would you risk everything… to save someone you don't know?"
"- I just… I just can't watch someone dying without doing anything. No matter who they are to me. It's my job to save lives, after all."
The answer was different from the one I had given her in the heat of the moment, because it was the only truth that made sense. If I was completely honest, I still had no idea why it was so important to me that she, among all other people, wasn't hurt, so important that I was ready, on that second, to sacrifice myself for her. No matter how I put it, it didn't want to make any sense, because she was right, we had barely talked at all and she was constantly pushing me away. Yet, when I saw her facing the shooter, the only thing that crossed my mind at this moment was "not her", and I certainly couldn't tell her that.
"- You shouldn't have," she said after a few seconds of silence, and the words she uttered to me three weeks ago came back to my mind. What if it was the whole point?
"- Why?" I simply asked. I wanted to understand. I deeply wanted to understand what she was thinking. The only thing that I was sure about is that she wasn't fine, at all, and it wasn't related to what had happened today. Something in her past had left a deep, bleeding wound in her heart, and without being able to explain why, I wanted nothing more than helping her to get better. I wanted to see her smile and laugh again.
"- No one would've missed me," she finally answered me in a slow and low tone, and I noticed the darkness in her eyes, the same I saw the very first day, on the plane. The one that looked so painful I was wondering what could have happened to her. "I'm sure you have family, friends, people… Not me. I don't have anyone left. So don't… don't do that to your family, just to save me. If I die, no one will miss me."
"- I would," I said without even thinking. She snorted almost aggressively, like I had just said the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.
"- You shouldn't," she snapped. "You don't know anything about me, so you should just stop talking before you say something else you'll end up not meaning," she snapped.
"- You're right. I don't know anything about you, but I could, if you let me. You're not alone," I told her, trying to make eye contact, but she stubbornly avoided my gaze. "Or at least, you don't have to be."
"- You don't know anything about me," she replied, finally looking directly at me, and her eyes were filled with an emotion that I couldn't quite pinpoint. It looked similar to the sour bitterness of regret, but I couldn't be sure. "I don't want friends. I don't deserve friends… I can't have friends." She whispered the last two sentences so quietly that I wondered if she had really said it, and she turned away from me, but not fast enough to hide the fact that her eyes were getting slightly damp. I wanted to find something to say, but I couldn't find the words that could help her. I doubted that they even existed. It would be so easy, if only a couple sentences from an almost stranger were enough to relieve her pain. Real life wasn't that simple.
She shook her head, as if she wanted to ignore her emotions, and picked up her charts before leaving the room.
hey! i hope you enjoyed this chapter! i'm sorry that it was so long since the last time i posted. i'll really try to do better next time. i should, because i already wrote the chapter 4... it was written before the second, actually. so that means i should be faster this time. but it's been like 6 months so i'll probably have to rewrite most of it because i'll find it horrible. and also when i was saying this chapter is longer than the others... the prologue + chap 1 + chap 2 are like 3.2k words together and this chapter is 4.3k... so yeah it's a lot longer. and i re-read those chapters and oh my god. they were like awful. i'll clearly had to rewrite it all at some point but rewriting is a dangerous cycle where i can so easily get stuck. so i won't do it at least not now. anyway. thank you for sticking with me. i love you for reading my words. also i love my beta readers so much for putting up with me and my constant overthinking. have a great day!