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three ─────────────── trust me?
"Okay, okay. We need to stop. You're hurt." Elina states, doubling over with her hands on her knees, breathing larbored as she craned her neck to look up at Rick, who fell against a tree. "We've been at it for hours—the sun is coming up. We need to take a minute—please, just...give me a minute." She practically pleads, falling to sit on the jungle floor. The two of them had fled the beach hours ago, and had been running without stops since then. It was safe to say they were exhausted. Elina's hands dig into the damp dirt as she leans back, head facing towards the sky—her mask tucked into the waist of her pants. She swallows hard and dry—wishing a bottle of water would drop from the sky right that very second. "You're...you're right." Rick breathes, sitting opposite of her, long legs sitting outside of hers. Elina nods, readjusting to where her boots are beside his, digging into the dirt. "I usually am." She adds.
That got out a dry (literally) chuckle out of him, and he shook his head. "Let me see it." Elina orders hoarsley. Rick looks up, brows furrowed. "See what?" He replies. "Your...where it hurts. You've hand your hand pressed to your side since we started running. Just let me see it." Elina says. Rick shakes his head, pushing himself off the ground. "No—we can't just messin' around—we have to find like, other people! Get in contact with Waller and—"
"Just ditch the fucking jacket, Rambo!"
Elina hadn't meant to come off so...mean, but, just as many other stubborn people, she had the thought to raise her voice to show that she meant it. As if she was joking about needing to see his injury? Yeah, whatever—it didn't make sense all too much. Rick shifted from one foot to the other, clenching his jaw. Elina wiped her hands on her pants and shed her own jacket, taking careful steps towards him, hands raised in defense. "I don't trust you." He states, but doesn't move as she unzips his jacket. "Yeah, a lot of people don't—I'm housed in Belle Reve, I'm used to it." Elina comments bitterly. Had he not been compliant right now, she probably would have held him down to help him.
Rick watches as Elina discarded the jacket to the side, looking back to his blood soaked shirt. She hissed quietly. "I'm not going to stick my hands up in there—I'm going to assess the situation and see if I do have to...go in there." Elina informed, lifting his shirt slowly, revealing his wounded hip. She hated the fact that her stomach turned at the sight of it. "Oh, that's fucking nasty, dude."
"You aren't helping."
"Sorry. Grab onto...something.
"What?"
"Hold on!"
Elina sucked in a breath and lightly prodded the skin around the wound, feeling a small hard spot. "Jesus Christ!" Rick hissed, hand coming down to grip her shoulder. "I have to, you know, go in there." Elina admitted, looking up to see Rick's hairline beading with sweat. He forced a nod and looked away. "I didn't think you'd be such a little bitch about it, Flag. You were in the army, right? And now you're—sorry—oh, it's out." Elina asked, manuevering the small bullet out of him until it fell into her hand. Presenting it to him, she smirked.
