Bart groaned as he slowly swam back into consciousness; he felt like he’d been hit by a truck. Everything hurt, especially his legs, and his mouth was uncomfortably dry. He groaned again, hoping there was somebody nearby to help; he had no idea where he was. Suddenly, something cool was pressed against his lips and a small, cool hand was lifting his head.
“Wake up sleeping beauty, I need you coherent so that you don’t choke when you drink,” the biting words were at an odd contrast to the melodic voice which uttered them, and he frowned, forcing his eyes open.
“Well, you’re as coherent as you’ll get – drink up,” the cold thing at his lips was tilted, and sweet, cool water was poured into his mouth. He gulped down what he was given happily, shutting his eyes in his euphoria. He opened them again when the water ceased, to be greeted by the sight of the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
“Are you an angel?” he slurred out sleepily, reaching up a leaden hand to try and touch the vision before him.
“As far from it as I can get, Whitman,” the vision smirked and got up and he let out an embarrassing whine of protest, making her laugh.
The sound of it jarred something in his memory, he’d heard it before. Come to think of it, something about the woman also seemed very familiar – had they met before? Bart’s eyes snapped open and he gasped – Emerald!
He struggled with his tired body to sit up, everything coming back to him: the break in at the archives, the call, seeing Emerald fighting, coming towards her, getting shot, cuffing them together, the hellish car ride to the apartment, seeing her porcelain skin covered in blood … and acting like a complete idiot. Fuck; that was not the impression he had wanted to make.
“Remember everything now?” she asked idly from her perch in an armchair in front of a computer.
“Where am I?”
“A temporary hideout, both your side and mine are out patrolling while everything is being cleaned up, leaving isn’t safe at the moment.”
“My side is out there, so I’m leaving, then,” he said with conviction, and began trying to get up.
“No you’re not. Not only are you down for the count from a mere two bullets, but there’s no way I’m letting you bring a horde of Elites down on my ass,”
“What are you gonna do to stop me?” as soon as the words left his mouth he found himself painfully pinned back down to the couch, her hands around his neck, slowly squeezing the life out of him. She let go right before he gave into the blackness seeping into his vision, and he wheezed, trying to gulp down air through his sore esophagus.
“I may be more injured than you are, but I’m still far stronger. You are staying put until it’s safe enough for me to blindfold you and get you out of here without disclosing our location, so be a good boy a cooperate,” she said as she curled back up in the armchair.
“Why am I still alive?” he managed to force out, still gasping for air. She shrugged.
“I have no idea. I think I might have finally gone crazy, so humour me while I sort through this mess,” she replied distractedly, her fingers flying over the keyboard, sifting through what looked like lines of code.
Bart slumped back down onto the couch, heart hammering in his chest, trying to make sense of his predicament. He was trapped here with the most beautiful and most deadly woman he had ever met. She had taken care of his wounds, given him a blanket, and then tried to kill him – but she had decided not to. Three times now she had purposely not killed him while being in the position to do so. He got off easy with the two bullets in his legs – she could have just deflected them into his head. He looked over at her again.
