[ The worst part of this might be that she knows this could have just as easily been her bleeding out on the street. She was sloppy. Reckless. Fighting like she was still immortal. Like she didn’t need to be protected. People don’t do that for her - she’s had her boys take kill shots through her fucking body, for fuck’s sake.
So there’s guilt. But there’s always guilt. It’s the other feelings, the sentimental shit. She’d almost rather take a knife between the ribs than feel that emotional tightness in her chest.
It’s quieter, worried underneath her habitual wryness, and maybe a twinge of unbidden fondness too: ]
You’re stupid. [ Gods, her jacket is more blood than fabric now. She swears to any higher power that she’ll do anything for Emily, if the good doctor can salvage this. ] If you don’t fucking die, maybe I’ll stick a couple fingers in there. Just try to bleed less, would you?
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So there’s guilt. But there’s always guilt. It’s the other feelings, the sentimental shit. She’d almost rather take a knife between the ribs than feel that emotional tightness in her chest.
It’s quieter, worried underneath her habitual wryness, and maybe a twinge of unbidden fondness too: ]
You’re stupid. [ Gods, her jacket is more blood than fabric now. She swears to any higher power that she’ll do anything for Emily, if the good doctor can salvage this. ] If you don’t fucking die, maybe I’ll stick a couple fingers in there. Just try to bleed less, would you?