Acquainted with DeathAuthor: Koohii CafeRating:
Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Torchwood are mine. ^^;Written for: TtH August Fic A Day ChallengeSummary: She’d been shot before; it felt much the same this time as it had last time, sudden pain, blossoming out from her chest, a wet sensation as the blood began to run, the blankness of shock.
Acquainted with Death
She’d been shot before; it felt much the same this time as it had last time, sudden pain, blossoming out from her chest, a wet sensation as the blood began to run, the blankness of shock. Slowly, as if in a dream, she bent her head to look, to see the red that was already soaking through her beige top. Distantly, she heard a cry, and she realized it had come from her own lips as her knees buckled, as she began to fall. And even more distantly, she heard the panicked shout as a body rushed forward, a pair of strong arms catching her in mid-descent, pulling her to a broad chest. She was aware that she was being cradled to that chest, as if a child. She was aware that more gunfire was being exchanged over her head the loud blasts barely a whisper in her dazed stated, and the one holding her was doing part of the firing. She was aware of a frantic pleading, and she thought that was also coming from the one holding her. But she was more aware of the pain
The gunshots stopped. There was a clatter of footsteps around her. A face came into view above her, and, detached, she knew it. Jack. She knew Jack. He shouted something at her, desperation in his eyes, and when she didn’t answer, he shouted at someone else. Another face- she knew that one too. Owen. She felt the world shift, the strong arms no longer holding her, but laying her flat, and then Owen was working over her hurriedly. There were bandages, she thought, pressed against the bloody wound, and she had time to realize her shooter had even gotten the almost the same spot. A gurgled laugh escaped her, and then she could understand the words being thrown at her.
“Damn it, Buffy, what the hell did you think you were doing?” It was Jack, swearing, shouting angrily, although there was something else in his gaze. She couldn’t identify it, not now. She managed another laugh, and this time there was blood in it.
“Was- protecting you- doofus.” She’d thrown him out of the way of a bullet, she thought. Or, she hoped she had. She remembered seeing the shot aimed for him, remembered there had been a thought that she couldn’t, wouldn’t
, lose Jack, and then she remembered moving
. Then pain. Above, Jack swore again, and Owen was putting pressure on the wound, and she heard another cry in response. Oh god
it hurt. And as the thought processed, she felt everything else fade, leaving her with nothing but that horrible pain. And then even that began to fade, to a dark blankness. She knew this feeling too. She didn’t welcome it, but she didn’t run either. She’d been here before, and it didn’t frighten her.
Jack and Owen… she was leaving them both, and if she tried, focused, she knew they were panicking. She knew they were struggling, fighting, to stave off the darkness for her. She tried to find words again, to tell them it was okay, but she didn’t have the strength, the energy, to speak. She managed to lift a hand, weakly, and then she felt another hand grasp hers- it had to be Jack, because Owen’s hands were busy at the bandages. She gave a squeeze, oh so faint, she blinkingly found his eyes, and she smiled. Then she was gone.
There was darkness. There was a tingle, a brush of familiar magics felt before, years ago now, and then- there was gasping breath, wide eyes, sitting straight up on a cold slab, and there was pain.