The Forgotten

Chapter 2: Ana

I sit frozen. His grey eyes locked on my green ones. Hearing that name sent icy fingers trailing up my spine. The infirmary lights glare and the old machines hum and click and beep, but I don't register any of it.

~How does he know that name?~

Everything feels cold and harsh. His slate stare turns bitter. He furrows his brow, "Who /are/ you?"

I can't look away, let alone answer him.

~How does he know that name?"

"Nurse!" I hear Red call. I snap from his gaze. "Nurse!" she calls again. My leg is throbbing. I look down and see the blood.

All of it.

It seeps through the bandages.

-and the sheets and onto the floor

Shit.

Red calls the nurse again just as they rush in the door. I slump heavily onto the metal bed frame as they swarm me, shouting for Red to sit down and passing medical nonsense over my head while they inject cold liquids into my leg.

"Ana?" A nurse shines a light in my eyes. Wincing I push her hand away. She's new. I'd never seen her before. She has a pretty face; shining brown hair, long black lashes, huge grey eyes.

/Grey eyes/

I shove her away with both hands and she collides with an empty food tray. The nurses at my leg jump at my sudden action, startled. One drops a suture needle onto the blood soaked mattress. I push off the cot away from the grey eyed nurse. My leg crumbles beneath me.

A nurse catches my wrists as I tumble down, "Ana, stop!" I struggle to free myself. Yanking a hand away I reach for the closest thing- an IV stand- and shove it on top of him.

He loosens his grip on my other hand and I pull it away quickly, accidentally raking my nails into his bicep.

I crawl away from the nurses. Red- sweet, lovely Red-crouches in front of me, blocking my way. She grips my uninjured shoulder in one hand, holding my face with the other, "Annabeth, it's okay," I feel a pinch at my back and she glances behind me. Dismissing whatever it was, she locks eyes with me, cooing, "It's okay. You're okay," and I fall into her chest.

The room softens and melts around me.

"You're okay."

And everything goes black

.......

Water. Nothing but water.

The car is filled with it. My lungs are filled with it. My head, my thoughts, my eyes.

The front windshield is shattered, Someone disappears out of it. I only see their legs before their gone.

I push at the steering wheel. Its getting hard to focus. I shove at the door. My lungs are burning. There's a hand on my arm and they pull me from the car. It disappears, drifting deeper into the dark water.

Then sweet air.

.......

"... is in stable unconscious condition," I hear a robotic voice speaking, "Vitals normal." My eyes snap open.

"Lieutenant Annabeth is in stable conscious condition. Vitals normal," I sit up.

Then fall right back into the pillows again.

I groan, "Why the /fuck/ does everything hurt so /fucking/ bad?" I ask aloud as if anyone's listening. My head is pounding and every muscle burns.

I push myself up, slowly making my way to sit up. The room was white and smelled of bleach. It was mostly empty aside from the bed I sat on, a wooden chair to the left of the bed, the machines I was hooked to, and I massive wall-to-wall mirror. No doubt with a panel of doctors on the other side.

The machine announced again that I was awake. rolling my eyes I pull the IV tube out of my arm and unhooked the pulse- thing. The monitor flat lines, "Warning: no vitals. Lieutenant Annabeth in critical condition." Whatever.

The events of the day before bombard me.

/The Washington raid. Red. Grey eyes. Noel. Grey dead eyes. So much blood. The nurses. Black lashes. Red. Pinches. Red. Red. Red. Black./

I couldn't put ends together. What happened? And why was I in Containment?

Frustrated, I cover my face with the thick cotton blanket on me. I move to turn onto my side and my leg screams in protest.

I push back the blanket and nearly vomit.

My thigh looks like it got run over by an eighteen-wheeler. Twice.

My whole leg is bruised. Purple and yellow and black and blue all mingle in a kaleidoscope beneath my skin. The freshly sewn bullet hole adorns my lower thigh along with a few other puckered scars. My ankles were both ringed with cut and burns where my capris never cover.

~The Washington raid.~

The door on my right swung open and I hurriedly concealed my legs again as a man walked in.

He was tall with dark skin and close cut hair and he seemed startled by me, "Lieutenant, you're not dead?" He looks around flustered, "But your vitals-" He glanced at my monitor that was still monotonously informing us that I was dead.

I looked at what I pulled out of my arm, now on the floor. He sighed and mumbled, "Of course." He stands at the door awkwardly, "I- uh. Should I- should I get the doctor?"

Hell, no, "No. Just," I look down at the thin hospital gown thing I had on, "find me something more than /this/," I tug at the material, "Please."

He stands still for one clumsy moment and shuffles out the door. Locking it behind him. Great.

I rub my temples. My headache is amplifying.

I shove my face into the cotton blanket again and groan.

~What is going on?~