When the airlock doors hiss open to the sight of a body on the floor only a few feet away, Luke jerks a half-step back, muscles cocking and ready for a fight as he waits instinctively for the gurgling groan, for a hand to grasp at his foot. But when a beat passes and it doesn’t – when the body doesn’t stir in the slightest – his shoulders slump some, his gaze finding the tribute’s face. He can’t help looking any more than he can help the worry curling in his gut as he strains to make her features out through a film of blood.
Oh God.
A delayed realization punches the air out of his lungs. It’s Jane.
Jane, so fiercely independent, so capable.
Jane snatching fistfuls of his filthy sweater and pushing her mouth to his, shushing soft little moans of pain and need, a leg sliding up between his.
Jane now sprawled like a broken doll, bleeding out.
His mind snaps back to Nick seizing and dropping to the floor, unnervingly still, and emotions swell painfully in his throat. It’s fear that rises above, by far the sharpest and most well-defined of them all.
He doesn’t think. He can’t, as his ears begin to ring. And he can feel his nose somehow unclog and ooze again as he lunges for her before he realizes he shouldn’t. Nerves scream through his side and it stops him cold, a sound somewhere between moan and an anguished, shuddering whine escaping him.
Bad idea.
Pain clamps down on his brain, eyes wide and glassy as he grips the arm on his weaker side. No sudden movements – not with a cracked collarbone and rib. Can’t lift her. Can’t pull her – not with both hands. He looks around uselessly for rope, for anything that can make this easier, panting, blinking against the stinging threat of tears.
But there’s just him and her and droning machinery he can’t do anything with. Better that, at least, than sharing the room with a xenomutt or a mob of cutthroat tributes. They can’t stay here long enough to let that happen, her least of all.
Luke sets his jaw and gathers his resolve, leaning against the nearest wall for support as he crouches and reaches to take her hand in his. He pushes onto his feet with a grunt and tugs her along, doggedly, desperately, with all he has. She’s much lighter than Nick, thank god, making it easier to drag her back the way he came. But he doesn’t stop in the airlock to rest, not for fear of being trapped inside a second time. Only when they’re out into the hall does he finally let go and sink to her side, doing his best to ignore the nerve-clench throbbing of his body as he feels for her breath, her pulse with hot, faintly trembling fingers. Turning her head carefully to one side to keep the blood from flooding her throat and choking her.
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Oh God.
A delayed realization punches the air out of his lungs. It’s Jane.
Jane, so fiercely independent, so capable.
Jane snatching fistfuls of his filthy sweater and pushing her mouth to his, shushing soft little moans of pain and need, a leg sliding up between his.
Jane now sprawled like a broken doll, bleeding out.
His mind snaps back to Nick seizing and dropping to the floor, unnervingly still, and emotions swell painfully in his throat. It’s fear that rises above, by far the sharpest and most well-defined of them all.
He doesn’t think. He can’t, as his ears begin to ring. And he can feel his nose somehow unclog and ooze again as he lunges for her before he realizes he shouldn’t. Nerves scream through his side and it stops him cold, a sound somewhere between moan and an anguished, shuddering whine escaping him.
Bad idea.
Pain clamps down on his brain, eyes wide and glassy as he grips the arm on his weaker side. No sudden movements – not with a cracked collarbone and rib. Can’t lift her. Can’t pull her – not with both hands. He looks around uselessly for rope, for anything that can make this easier, panting, blinking against the stinging threat of tears.
But there’s just him and her and droning machinery he can’t do anything with. Better that, at least, than sharing the room with a xenomutt or a mob of cutthroat tributes. They can’t stay here long enough to let that happen, her least of all.
Luke sets his jaw and gathers his resolve, leaning against the nearest wall for support as he crouches and reaches to take her hand in his. He pushes onto his feet with a grunt and tugs her along, doggedly, desperately, with all he has. She’s much lighter than Nick, thank god, making it easier to drag her back the way he came. But he doesn’t stop in the airlock to rest, not for fear of being trapped inside a second time. Only when they’re out into the hall does he finally let go and sink to her side, doing his best to ignore the nerve-clench throbbing of his body as he feels for her breath, her pulse with hot, faintly trembling fingers. Turning her head carefully to one side to keep the blood from flooding her throat and choking her.
Please let her be alive --
He flicks a wary glance left and right.
Please let someone not be beyond saving --