“This girl who stands so quiet and grave at the mouth of hell. This girl who is all quietness and sanity and innocence. You wondered why I wanted her?”
— Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
He’s hurt, he knows that.
How bad, is for later. Right now all he knows is that he can taste blood and smell smoke and there is a heavy sense of not right pressing on him.
The other thing he knows is that she’s there.
Her peridot eyes flash for just a moment, so quickly he thinks he might have imagined it. Her mouth is moving, and he has to concentrate to focus over the scree in his ears.
“–move. I’m going to get–”
Her words are lost to him again, and all he can do is just lie there and bleed and love her. She is beautiful, a goddess, hair askew and face smudged and suit bearing small tattered cuts from flying shrapnel. She holds his face in her hands, staring into his eyes, willing him to understand. He nods; no use in disappointing her.
He slides into darkness, taking the sight of her with him, clinging to it in a muddled haze of confusion.
He’s hurt, she knows that.
How bad, is for later. Right now all she knows is there was an explosion and a column of fire leaping into the night and oh God where is he–
He lays at her feet, half-buried by rocks, a limp bundle of blue and green. Thankfully he had his helmet on, or–
No. He’s here, and his breath is fogging the Plexiglass, and she’ll deal with everything else later. His eyes are fluttering halfway between open and closed, and as she scurries over, his hands grasp feebly at nothing. Gently, she takes his helmet into her hands, look at me–
From the way his head jerks up and his eyes stop fluttering, she knows she’s used It. She made her heart’s plea an irresistible compulsion (he did warn you, he did offer to train you so you could control it) but whatever, it got the result she wanted (she’d walk the edge for him).
“Don’t move. I’m gonna get Gordon, he’ll bring ‘Two around. We’re getting out of here.”
There it was, a brief flicker of understanding in the well-loved features–and then the breath stuck in her chest as she watched him slip into unconsciousness.
She knelt beside him, praying that they still had a chance.
Oh, so love this! Hang in there Virgil, please.
Ack, I want more, but no pressure……ummmmm, no pressure…….definitely no pressure…..ummmm, oh, darn it, gimme, gimme, gimme! Want more!
Beautifully written, as always ::hugs you to bits:: Ooops ::puts bits back together so you can write more:: 😀 ::hopes put bits in all the right places::
Now I goes and reads it again. Thank you so much for writing. This was a gem in my Tumblr feed 😀
(Somewhat moreso than usual this Sunday morning 😁)