http://not-alaska.livejournal.com/ (
not-alaska.livejournal.com) wrote in
tampered2008-05-31 11:23 am
There Will Be Blood//Closed Log
When; Sat 31st, Morning
Rating; ARRR (blood, gore, cursing, probably more like a 14+ type thing)
Characters; George
not_alaska & Logan
weaponxanimal
Summary; It's impossible to be a good FBI agent without a few life-threatening injuries, but when all those old scars open up at once it ain't pretty. It also means bad news for the boyfriend with a long history of "Everyone I Love Dies".
OOC Note; A public post'll go up sometime after we get this started, if you want to get involved/offer help/etc. ♥
Log;
It was the pain that woke George Blake up from her restless sleep. Like being hit by a semi going highway speed. Her first reaction was to roll onto her back, too breathless to make any noise, even in her head. The key was to breathe through it, and when she clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut she could almost convince herself that she'd survived worse and that she'd be fine. The fact remained that she hadn't, but it helped to ease the sudden panic.
The first real wound to emerge from the overall landscape of pain was the hole in her stomach. Gunshot wound. She could feel the blood from the exit wound soaking into the sheets under her. She had been shot once there before and she tried and failed to remember what the doctors had told her that bullet had done to her insides. She tried to sit up, to see who had done this, the panicked thought that the serial killer had found her flickering through her mind. She felt an old knife wound in her thigh pulling every time she shifted, a reminder of one of her first drug-busts. And when she tried to drag the sheets off, the searing, burning pain on her palms got a quiet, pained noise past her lips. A reminder of months passed: the subway terrorist attack. But she was still in bed, and there was no one in the room from what she could see. Either they had already left or this was a curse. Not that finding the cause really helped the problem.
With that in mind, George reached out blindly to the other side of the bed, hoping Logan would still be there. She couldn't do this alone - she could barely breathe.
"Logan...!"
Rating; ARRR (blood, gore, cursing, probably more like a 14+ type thing)
Characters; George
Summary; It's impossible to be a good FBI agent without a few life-threatening injuries, but when all those old scars open up at once it ain't pretty. It also means bad news for the boyfriend with a long history of "Everyone I Love Dies".
OOC Note; A public post'll go up sometime after we get this started, if you want to get involved/offer help/etc. ♥
Log;
It was the pain that woke George Blake up from her restless sleep. Like being hit by a semi going highway speed. Her first reaction was to roll onto her back, too breathless to make any noise, even in her head. The key was to breathe through it, and when she clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut she could almost convince herself that she'd survived worse and that she'd be fine. The fact remained that she hadn't, but it helped to ease the sudden panic.
The first real wound to emerge from the overall landscape of pain was the hole in her stomach. Gunshot wound. She could feel the blood from the exit wound soaking into the sheets under her. She had been shot once there before and she tried and failed to remember what the doctors had told her that bullet had done to her insides. She tried to sit up, to see who had done this, the panicked thought that the serial killer had found her flickering through her mind. She felt an old knife wound in her thigh pulling every time she shifted, a reminder of one of her first drug-busts. And when she tried to drag the sheets off, the searing, burning pain on her palms got a quiet, pained noise past her lips. A reminder of months passed: the subway terrorist attack. But she was still in bed, and there was no one in the room from what she could see. Either they had already left or this was a curse. Not that finding the cause really helped the problem.
With that in mind, George reached out blindly to the other side of the bed, hoping Logan would still be there. She couldn't do this alone - she could barely breathe.
"Logan...!"

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The touch of her hand startled Logan into waking. Of course he was there, there beside her. It was becoming a regular habit. Why move to the other room after sex? That didn't make any sense. the touch of her hand on his skin was not a caress or shove. Urgency.
"George?" Fog of half sleep fell away completely as the coppery scent of blood registered. "George!" He bolted upright and tossed away the sheets completely. Blood. Blood.
Who was there? Who did this? There was no other scent in the room but them. "I'm here, darlin'. I'm here." The words were thick in his mouth with worry. Dark red of blood looked horrific against the pale canvas of her stomach. Logan couldn't fall to pieces, he couldn't afford to.
The bleeding needed to be stopped somehow. "I gotcha. Don't worry...Don't worry George." He would do it for her. A adamantium claw extended and thrashed the bedsheets for a temporary bandage. The technical frame of mind was working against the swelling myriad of thoughts.
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When she tried to speak the first time she could taste metal in her mouth and had to swallow and try again. "Stomach and left leg. Have to apply pressure and stop the bleeding."
The professional attitude was all instinct, hours and hours of training for situations like these. Underneath it she was as terrified as anyone else would be to find a sucking hole in their stomach and cuts all over.
She searched for his face, to see if he looked as worried as he sounded. She wanted to tell him it would be okay, even if that was a lie. Even if she was bleeding out in her bed, a long ways from medical attention. He shouldn't be worried. Her hand found his arm held on, the dull throb of the second-degree burns worth it for the physical reassurance.
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George's hand on his arm, however light, was like a lifeline for him. She was hanging on. Worry was adding creases to the stubble. "Got it. You do the hard part." Humor and truth.
One hand was pressed over her stomach with a reasonable amount of pressure. He was trying to wrap the linen over the wound on the thigh when he realized that his fingers were getting wet on her stomach, already the bandage was bleeding through. This wasn't going to work.
"George, we're gonna need to get help." He scanned around the room for a laptop or a communicator. There had to be someone on the damn network.
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Yes, the hard part. Staying alive. Staying awake was hard enough. If she went into shock and passed out... A moment of despair was quickly replaced by anger. This shouldn't be happening to her. She had been happy. She had a meaningful job, friends, a home, Logan... Focusing on that bright flame of anger was enough to keep her going for a little while longer.
She was starting to shiver, body going clammy and cold, as she blinked hard to stay awake. If there way anyone out there who could heal her now, they'd have to make it fast.
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He was back at her side, leaving the connection to the outside world on the nightstand within reach. "Someone'll come." From touch, Logan could tell she was getting cold.
"Fuck." Forget elevating her feet, the thought of any extra movement to her thigh or the rest of her would end up bad. There was little to be done about controlling the bleeding, nonetheless Logan was trying to keep pressure on that gunshot wound. The forsaken comforter was back and up on George to fight the chill.
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"So hard to stay awake," she gasped, reaching out from under the blanket to find him again, determined not to cry.
It had to happen sometime, she had just hoped it wouldn't happen like this. She had to trust that someone would come. Logan had done all that he could. There was nothing she could do, and that was most frightening of all.
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"Stay awake, George. Come on now, stay here," it was a command and a plea. Logan found her hand and held onto it.
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"I can't... I'm sorry."
And her eyes fluttered closed. She was still breathing, but more shallowly as her body shut down.
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