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The pain surged through her side as she managed to pick herself up off the ground, rattled by the blast that had knocked her off her feet and into the dirt. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a wet warmth seeping from her side and into the shirt she wore. Slipping her fingers underneath her gear, she felt the hole from the bullet, and she inhaled sharply, shoving a rag underneath her shirt to halt the bleeding, if it would.
Shouts echoed from around and she drew her attention to the men pulling Colonel Alejandro from the fight. Her eyes met Rudy’s and she hurried over. “What’s his status?”
“Not good,” he answered. “He needs evac.”
“Understood,” she replied, putting a finger to her ear. “This is Seraph, I need an emergency extraction at my location. Colonel Alejandro needs medical attention now.”
Negative, Seraph. Anti-aircraft missiles are lighting up the sky. We’ll get shot down before we even get there.
Another voice echoed through the comms. “This is Soap. Ghost and I are enroute to the location. We’ll take out the missiles. Requesting suppressing fire.”
She looked at Rudy. “Take your men and go. I’ll cover the Colonel and the remaining team here.”
He nodded and bent down, taking Alejandro’s hand. “Aguante.”
Alejandro let out a pitiful laugh as he held his chest and looked at her. “Todavía no me voy. No me he casado con nuestro bonito ángel.”
Her lips curled up in an exasperated smile and she reached up, brushing the sweat drenched hair from his forehead. “You make it through this, Alejandro Vargas and I will. I’ll even wear the pretty white dress for you.”
He leaned into her touch and countered confidently, “Oh ho? You will? Well, I guess I should—” a choking cough cut him off as blood splattered his pants and she looked at Rudy.
“Ve. Ahora.”
“Cuídale mientras estoy fuera. Tengo confianza en ti.”
She nodded firmly in response, turning her full attention to Alejandro as Rudy called his men out.
***
Once Alejandro was taken by the doctors at the base, she could finally worry about herself. And in hindsight, was probably a terrible decision, but the men of Los Vaqueros needed their leader more, and if she had worried about her own wounds, he would’ve died on her account—she wasn’t going to let that happen.
She passed the men of both the 141 who had remained behind and the stragglers from Los Vaqueros who’d come with her and Alejandro, ignoring the concerned gazes as she stumbled to her quarters. Shutting the doors behind her, she flicked on the light and started unlatching the vest and arm guards, tossing them aside as she lifted the shirt from her body, barely suppressing a cry of pain as the wound rippled with a fierce fire. With her pointer, she pushed her finger into the hole in her side, feeling around until she met the metal imbedded in her flesh.
Yanking her bloody finger out, she looked around until she found a stray leather strap on the ground. Picking it up, she shoved it between her teeth before grabbing her knife. She stood in front of the mirror beside the door and inhaled sharply before digging the knife into her flesh. Her grip around the knife almost faltered, teeth sinking into metal tasting leather as pain flared from her side, vision hazing for a moment. Inhaling sharply, she pressed on, digging further until the tip of the knife met metal and she managed to get the bullet close enough to pull with her fingers.
Both pieces of metal fell to the floor, the knife strewn in front of the mirror, the bullet rolling somewhere under her bed. She turned, grabbing for a scrap of her shirt and that’s when her knees buckled, dark spots appearing in her vision as she hit the ground, out cold.
***
When she opened her eyes, confusion bled into her until the smell of antiseptic hit her nose, and then she knew she was somewhere in the medical building. She turned her head, immediately recoiling when she met Ghost’s eyes, a dark anger in them.
“Mind tellin’ me why you decided to ignore a wound and almost kill yourself in an attempt to play doctor?”
She made a face. “I got it out, didn’t I?”
“Almost bled yourself out on your own fucking floor too,” he retorted. “Why didn’t you tell the medics?”
“Colonel Alejandro’s wounds were more imperative to treat.”
“And yours weren’t?”
She stared at him. “Sir, compared to me, the Colonel—”
“Your worth to the 141 has no comparison,” he interrupted with a firmness. “You might not think your life is worth as much as his, but all of us would disagree, especially Colonel Alejandro.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked away. “…I’m sorry, sir.”
“Sorry doesn’t fix it. Sorry is an excuse. Be better. You didn’t survive all the shit you went through just to die digging out a bullet.”
“And how many bullets have you dug out?”
“Enough to know I don’t want you doing it as much as I have.” He rested a rather comforting hand on hers. “Seraph, you’re worth more to the 141 than you think you are.”
She looked away, jaw clenching and he saw the glistening in her eyes as she stared out the window; whatever words wanted to come out, wouldn’t and she shifted her hand, turning hers up to take Simon’s, squeezing as tightly as she could possibly could, as if it would keep any and all emotion at bay. Simon let her, brushing a rough, calloused thumb against the smooth back of her hand and he was in such awe at her. Her skin was still so smooth, unflawed by marks and scars like his was. From here he could count at least ten on his hand and hers none. Her palm and fingers of course were calloused from training but still so soft and delicate.
He stayed with her until her grip started to go slack and he looked over when her fingers unclenched completely, a small smile crossing his lips as he saw her asleep. Carefully, he pulled his hand back and stood from the shitty chair he’d bent himself into, gently pulling the sheet over her chest and to her chin, freezing when she shifted ever-so-slightly.
Simon turned on his heel and left the room quietly, rolling his eyes when he saw half the task force and Los Vaqueros standing around outside. Before he could be hit with a barrage of concerned questions, he held up a hand and said, “Seraph’s fine. She’s back asleep again. Everyone go back to your quarters and visit tomorrow morning when she’d had some rest.”
Most of them dispersed except Rudy and Soap, one’s expression holding peace, the other a look of apology. “I’m sorry, Ghost, I should’ve known she was injured.”
He shrugged. “She wouldn’t have told you in the first place.”
“Still, I should’ve known.”
“She’s going to live. Visit her tomorrow, Rudy.” He accentuated his point by twisting the man in the direction of the exit.
As he left, Soap asked, “She really okay?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Tired, but she’s good.”
“Can’t believe she managed to dig out a bullet on her own.”
“She’s tough,” Ghost replied, glancing back at the door. “Tougher than most of us are.”
Soap’s eyebrows furrowed, then his lips turned into an ‘o’, and he smirked. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” Ghost whipped his head around with a glare. “It’s only been a month since she arrived and you’re already feeling—”
“You will say nothing, to no one,” he warned, pointing a finger in his face. “Do you understand me, Sergeant?”
The Scot simply grinned and made a zipper of his lips. “Oh, your secret is safe with me, sir, I’ll never tell a soul that you feel for the pretty angel.”
Ghost’s lips pursed and he growled, “Watch the goddamn door.”
He stalked off in the opposite direction of the quarters with Soap’s laughter echoing in his ears. The Scot collapsed into the seat outside the doors. Even if the 141 and Los Vaqueros were made up of heroes, Soap knew that some men were simply dogs. His hand found the handgun underneath his sweatshirt, and he sat there, guarding the Angel inside.