Murrue Ramius knew she was dying.
The trouble with that state was the fact that it was taking too damn long.
She had blown the brains out of the commando, but he had managed to snap off two shots.
One missed.
The other one had slammed into her gut, the fragmenting bullet shredding into her internal organs. It must have been her imagination, or the delirium, but she swore she could feel her intestines being torn apart by the fragments everytime she drew breath.
Oh, God, I don't want to die...
There was moisture on her cheeks. She blinked back the tears and grit her teeth through the pain. Think of something else.
Think about the wound and what you can do about it.
Gutshots killed people slow. Murrue knew that.
That was all she knew.
Okay, bad idea.
Damn it, if I was just a second faster...
She shook her head, regretting it afterwards as the sensation added to her vertigo.
She felt the base shudder and heard an explosion from far away.
The young officer had enough strength to prop herself up against a nearby wall. At least she had a clear view of the corridor.
Hah, take that ZAFT! I can shoot anyone that comes by!
She chuckled under her breath and it _hurt_!
How long would it take for her to bleed to death?
Hours? Minutes?
She looked down at the gun she held weakly in her hand. It looked bigger, felt heavier and still smelled of cordite.
I'm dead already. She grit her teeth and made her decision.
Her hand trembled as she raised it up, slowly.
That was when she heard the running footsteps.
She stiffened. ZAFT?
A woman rounded the corner, short brown hair a mess, a black eyepatch covering one eye and dressed in a black uniform.
Reflex took over.
Adrenaline pumped through her as she turned her pistol on the stranger and started shooting.
The woman dodged every shot.
After every flash-and-crack the woman seemed to be in another place. The gun's recoil was hell but she couldn't have been aiming that bad.
Another shot and suddenly the gun was out of her hand. The woman had it.
"Well, that was a waste."
Murrue blinked. That voice...
Impossible, but...
"Thought you were dead," she rasped as she gave her old Captain a weak smile. "Sorry, didn't recognize you. Must be the eyepatch. And the haircut."
Captain Granger looked down at her with puzzlement and knelt down by her side. Murru noticed that one hand seemed to have been balled into a fist, unnaturally still. Prosthetic arm, must have lost it in the incident.
"Young lady, you seem to be in trouble. Let me take a look at that."
Captain seemed to be looking good; her hair was cut shorter than the last time they met, a few crow's feet in her remaining eye, but she looked pretty fantastic for someone who was supposed to have died a year ago. Pretty young, but everyone on the Patroklos called her "old lady" as part of the old seagoing tradition.
"Okay, this is bad, I don't--"
The Captain had looked up from her wound and looked into her eyes, when she saw something that made her stop.
"Fuck."
Whatever she saw in her eyes she didn't like it.
"Bright, what the fuck are you doing as a woman?!? And aren't you supposed to be-- shit!!"
Her old captain looked up at the ceiling and asked swore herself at some invisible audience.
Crap.
Obviously, her old captain had gone crazy and she was going to die because she was crazy. She was about to say something when Captain Granger returned her gaze to her.
The fire in those eyes made her shut up as the older woman put a hand on her wound.
"Okay. Okay. Now I know why they fucking sent me here. And not just Amuro either - fuck, I'll probably have to deal with the whole crew again! Shit!"
Captain Granger chuckled and looked at her again. There was amusement there, though it was the sort that she'd seen in old veterans.
"You're probably thinking I'm crazy, but, hell, I'm your best hope right now.
"Tell me your name again, by the way, I seem to have forgotten it."
Murrue looked at Captain Granger as she felt her abdomen to start getting warm, right around the spot where the captain had her hand.
"But--"
"Just tell me your name okay." A slight smile on her former commanding officer's face made her trust her.
"Lieutenant Murrue Ramius."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Now, Murrue, I'm going to do something - something that will stop you from dying."
Murrue's hopes started to lift but a sharp pain in her stomach made her wince.
"Yeah. It's gonna hurt. And you'll probably be out for a month - thread reconstructions are a bitch after all."
She didn't know what Captain Granger was talking about. But the warmth warred with the pain and she felt hope.
"I need to know one thing: do you want to live?"
Murrue just nodded as she felt a jolt of pain suddenly run up from her stomach, climb up her spine and into her head.
She slammed her head back into the wall and screamed.
Moments, or was it an eternity, later, she started to black out as she felt the warmth recede.
Words chased after her into the dark.
"Well, Murrue, you have to fight."
Then she felt something like a kiss on her forehead and she fell into sleep's embrace.
*************
The trouble with that state was the fact that it was taking too damn long.
She had blown the brains out of the commando, but he had managed to snap off two shots.
One missed.
The other one had slammed into her gut, the fragmenting bullet shredding into her internal organs. It must have been her imagination, or the delirium, but she swore she could feel her intestines being torn apart by the fragments everytime she drew breath.
Oh, God, I don't want to die...
There was moisture on her cheeks. She blinked back the tears and grit her teeth through the pain. Think of something else.
Think about the wound and what you can do about it.
Gutshots killed people slow. Murrue knew that.
That was all she knew.
Okay, bad idea.
Damn it, if I was just a second faster...
She shook her head, regretting it afterwards as the sensation added to her vertigo.
She felt the base shudder and heard an explosion from far away.
The young officer had enough strength to prop herself up against a nearby wall. At least she had a clear view of the corridor.
Hah, take that ZAFT! I can shoot anyone that comes by!
She chuckled under her breath and it _hurt_!
How long would it take for her to bleed to death?
Hours? Minutes?
She looked down at the gun she held weakly in her hand. It looked bigger, felt heavier and still smelled of cordite.
I'm dead already. She grit her teeth and made her decision.
Her hand trembled as she raised it up, slowly.
That was when she heard the running footsteps.
She stiffened. ZAFT?
A woman rounded the corner, short brown hair a mess, a black eyepatch covering one eye and dressed in a black uniform.
Reflex took over.
Adrenaline pumped through her as she turned her pistol on the stranger and started shooting.
The woman dodged every shot.
After every flash-and-crack the woman seemed to be in another place. The gun's recoil was hell but she couldn't have been aiming that bad.
Another shot and suddenly the gun was out of her hand. The woman had it.
"Well, that was a waste."
Murrue blinked. That voice...
Impossible, but...
"Thought you were dead," she rasped as she gave her old Captain a weak smile. "Sorry, didn't recognize you. Must be the eyepatch. And the haircut."
Captain Granger looked down at her with puzzlement and knelt down by her side. Murru noticed that one hand seemed to have been balled into a fist, unnaturally still. Prosthetic arm, must have lost it in the incident.
"Young lady, you seem to be in trouble. Let me take a look at that."
Captain seemed to be looking good; her hair was cut shorter than the last time they met, a few crow's feet in her remaining eye, but she looked pretty fantastic for someone who was supposed to have died a year ago. Pretty young, but everyone on the Patroklos called her "old lady" as part of the old seagoing tradition.
"Okay, this is bad, I don't--"
The Captain had looked up from her wound and looked into her eyes, when she saw something that made her stop.
"Fuck."
Whatever she saw in her eyes she didn't like it.
"Bright, what the fuck are you doing as a woman?!? And aren't you supposed to be-- shit!!"
Her old captain looked up at the ceiling and asked swore herself at some invisible audience.
Crap.
Obviously, her old captain had gone crazy and she was going to die because she was crazy. She was about to say something when Captain Granger returned her gaze to her.
The fire in those eyes made her shut up as the older woman put a hand on her wound.
"Okay. Okay. Now I know why they fucking sent me here. And not just Amuro either - fuck, I'll probably have to deal with the whole crew again! Shit!"
Captain Granger chuckled and looked at her again. There was amusement there, though it was the sort that she'd seen in old veterans.
"You're probably thinking I'm crazy, but, hell, I'm your best hope right now.
"Tell me your name again, by the way, I seem to have forgotten it."
Murrue looked at Captain Granger as she felt her abdomen to start getting warm, right around the spot where the captain had her hand.
"But--"
"Just tell me your name okay." A slight smile on her former commanding officer's face made her trust her.
"Lieutenant Murrue Ramius."
"Okay. Thanks."
"Now, Murrue, I'm going to do something - something that will stop you from dying."
Murrue's hopes started to lift but a sharp pain in her stomach made her wince.
"Yeah. It's gonna hurt. And you'll probably be out for a month - thread reconstructions are a bitch after all."
She didn't know what Captain Granger was talking about. But the warmth warred with the pain and she felt hope.
"I need to know one thing: do you want to live?"
Murrue just nodded as she felt a jolt of pain suddenly run up from her stomach, climb up her spine and into her head.
She slammed her head back into the wall and screamed.
Moments, or was it an eternity, later, she started to black out as she felt the warmth recede.
Words chased after her into the dark.
"Well, Murrue, you have to fight."
Then she felt something like a kiss on her forehead and she fell into sleep's embrace.
*************