I can't let her die…

She wouldn't be here if it weren't for me; unconscious, bleeding in my bed, unable to say goodbye if this is to be our final moment together. While I wait for the medics to arrive – hoping that G.U.N are as quick to save their own as they claim – I grab any amount of bandages I can find, and then any kind of cloth I can make into a wrap. I haven't shed a tear since grieving Maria, but as I'm frantically spinning absorbent white fabric around Rouge's bullet-riddled arm, I feel that same hot sting returning to my eyes. I thought I'd forgotten the feeling, but it hurts as much as it did back then.

'Goddamnit' is the only thought I'm capable of in my panicked state, the word repeating in my head and getting louder while my motions become shakier. I hope, with every atom in my artificial body, that I've wrapped her red-spilling wounds tightly enough to delay the hemorrhaging. Once that's done, the next part of her I have to compress is the gash in her side. I stuff the cloth against the open slit in her bodysuit, where my partner's skin is harshly stained with maroon, pressing my left palm firmly on the ugly grooves that slash across her waist.

The gray cotton quickly stains a dark crimson, and Rouge's blood soaks through to color my glove. All I can do is hold it there – and wait. My vision blurs and I raise my other hand to cover my eyes. I squeeze them shut, but it doesn't quell the sting… because the pain isn't just behind my lids. It's in my chest, too, constricting somewhere deep and causing my breaths to shorten and heave. Rouge is completely motionless, and her unconsciousness is both a blessing and a burden. I don't want her to be awake to feel the agony, but I also can't gauge how close she might be to death.

Since rushing her to safety, I've seen her warmly tanned skin dull to a pale, drained hue. I've never seen her so ailed. And it's my fault. My fault. I was an idiot, ignoring her instructions, selfishly letting impatience get the better of me. Why is she the one to suffer from our mistake? I should be in her place, on the verge of death. I'd die a dozen times if I could take this back.

Finally – finally, thank Chaos – I hear swift, clomping footfalls down the hall from my room. I straighten up from my disheveled slump and glance over my shoulder, rapidly pulling in a breath and blinking away the visual representation of my despair. My body trades one symptom of distress for another, my heart now pounding with fear and desperation. In a rare moment of vulnerability, I'm actually afraid; terrified of something I wasn't worried about before. Now that her mortality is taunting me…

I move out of the way once G.U.N agents enter through the door, a handful of uniformed medics and soldiers spilling into my room. The healers are talking to each other and the fighters are talking to me or into their radios, but I can't focus on any of their words. I don't know what's happening but suddenly the scene around me seems unreal. It almost feels like I'm outside of myself as my gaze flits between Rouge and the various humans in front of me, and I'm apparently silent long enough to cause them concern.

The agents in blue transfer Rouge onto a stretcher and start to carry her away while a man in black kneels in front of me and snaps his fingers. His voice is strangely muffled as he speaks my name, and I face away, furrowing my brow to show that I'm cognizant. He says something about needing to take me to their headquarters. The other soldiers filter out and I give him a nod, then I look down at the hand that I hope saved Rouge's life. The palm of my glove is covered in red, even darker than before now that the blood isn't so fresh. Looking at it fills me with a sense of dread, and I catch a chill down my spine.

Disturbed, I pull it off, leaving that hand bare except for the inhibitor ring still binding my wrist. And when the human takes out a sleek plastic bag, I drop the glove inside before following him out to the standard G.U.N vehicle they arrived in. Now the world starts to become clearer again and I feel my right mind returning, enough to quietly lament the sight of the medical truck driving away; and feel a bit of regret that I won't be in that truck if Rouge wakes up. However, apparently there are other things to be done, now that our mission has been derailed and my partner has been severely injured – not to mention the fact that our firepower is missing.

Fuck, I have to go back for Omega…

They want me to speak with the Commander and fill him in on our failure. Unfortunately for G.U.N, they won't be getting a sliver of good news, and I don't know if I'll even be able to maintain my composure during the recounting of this tragedy. I can hardly keep it together in the truck; although I hold a stone face, pieces of me are cracking into shards beneath the surface. If she doesn't come back from this, I don't know what I'll do. How can I go on working for them if Omega and I have to go on missions without Rouge? And if I lose Omega, too… if we can't get him back…

I have to consider the possibilities and prepare my explanations before we reach the facility. While I sit in a jostling vehicle surrounded by soldiers, I lean my elbows on my knees, holding my own ungloved hand and thinking the entire way to HQ.