The Armor (Prince Harry fanfic #1)

Chapter Thirty-Five

The first phone called only last for a few minutes. She gave all the information that she could, but she didn't have much. If there was any change in Prince Harry's condition, she was to call back again; Lucy agreed. Offering to the call the family, Lucy was turned down by the charity. It was her job to notify the family, however when dealing with the royal family, an American wasn't do the business. The charity said they would contact the royal family; Lucy agreed. The charity continued, telling her that she would receive another call on this line soon. She was to follow all instructions. Lucy knew what was coming for her, which wasn't good. They hung up.

Pausing, it was still the middle of the night. Moon was high in the sky, at its peak. Lucy returned to the schoolhouse. She had never been more than a hundred feet from Harry now, and she couldn't bear to take a longer walk. She might have needed one, but she stayed close.

"They're going to call me back," she said.

"Keep it, until later." The mayor paused. "You should call your family too."

A tight smile pulled at her lips. "I'm fine, really." Her fingers curled around the phone as she walked around. Her body was tight, almost unable to breathe.

Her eyes narrowed on the phone, with the first time she was paying attention to the simple design and old ways. It was still a flip, unlike what she was used to. In America, if you had a flip-phone, you were mocked, not here. Here you were cool. You had something that other didn't. How interesting it was with the unequal economic status. It had been a while since Lucy had a phone like this, not that this was hers now. If it was anyone's, it was Harry's; his blood covered it.

"Ma'am," called a female voice, and Lucy stopped pacing. Her eyes found the ground and then the woman. "Please."

One foot in front of the other brought Lucy to the door and then inside. It was hot and humid. Sweat trickled on her skin. The heat collapsed on her like a fort coming down. She breathed through her nose, knowing something would come out of her mouth if she opened it: maybe some vomit or a scream. Lucy didn't recognize him for a second, laying on a table, with clothes lying around him.

"Will he live?" she asked. That was the right question, wasn't it?

The female paused. "He'll live, if he can get some real help."

"The military is coming soon. They'll help him."

She nodded solemnly.

"What?" Lucy hadn't moved to be closer to him. Was she even allowed?

"I shouldn't say anything, ma'am."

Stepping closer, she listened.

The female looked around. "I really can't say anything, ma'am."

Lucy knew. "You're scared because you know who the men are that got into the fight. You know the man who stabbed Harry."

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

She latched onto the female. "I'm not angry at you, and I don't want them to die. I don't want there to be pain. They should turn themselves in. It'll help them."

"Ma'am, you don't know my country well." The female pulled her arm back and left the schoolhouse.

A male stepped in front of Lucy, who watched the situation. His eyes hovered upon Lucy and then Harry. Dark eyes found her again. "I'm sorry." He watched his feet and left.

Lucy and Harry were the only ones left within the room.

It was stuffy inside the schoolhouse, and the windows could open but never had been since Lucy came here. Air would've been good, but she feared for Harry's health. He needed sterilization, which wouldn't have happened with dust. Clean air would've been good in here, since it started to smell like death. Blood was everywhere, all over the floor and tables. Lucy wondered who would clean up the blood. It was starting to crust, but at least it no longer pouring from Harry.

Laying on the table stiffly upon his back, Harry was calm. His face was pulled back with his red hair frizzed out. His breathing was shallow, in and out quickly, and his heartbeat had to match. He fought to survive. He shook in pain; there was no relief for him yet. His pallor skin only made the sweat on him come alive. The beads ran from his body. His abdomen wound had been cleaned and bandaged up, most likely sewn together. Lucy considered where the wound was, probably upon having missed all organs, but infection could've killed him. His arms were outside, one hand falling off.

Her feet flapped on the ground in her tennis shoes, slowly with resistance. Her mind was already preparing for the loss. It wasn't even a loss for her, really, when she didn't know him well. She knew him better than others, yes, but the whole world would mourn for him. All of his fans would mourn for him. But his family, his closest family members, knew who he really was, and they would've mourned him the most. Some close friends, the ones he knew since childhood or the ones he served with, would've mourned him the most. She wouldn't claim to now him that well.

Carefully, Lucy picked up his hand, holding it. Upon feeling his heartbeat at his wrist, she placed his hand to her heart, seeing if that may calm him. A chair was pulled up and she sat down, watching him with pride. He was still alive, not an easy feat. Her thumb ran over the beck of his hand, occasionally feeling for a heartbeat. She knew he was alive because of his breathing. His chest worked hard, up and down.

This was how it was, Lucy thought, of how her grandfather looked at her while she laid there, maybe dying. This was pain, and she hated patience.

"Please, Harry."

She didn't know what she wanted from him. If he were to wake up, he would've been in much pain. If he were to stay asleep, it was fear he may never wake up with her. He still deserved to live.

"Please live."

There was no response, not that she expected there to be.