by K Alexander
"Ryan?"
The soldier pauses, a few feet from the car, and Claire leans against the passenger door as she feels her legs trembling slightly. Turning around Ryan fixes her green eyes on the blonde woman, intense and fierce. When she moves forward the action is not nearly as certain as always, but she is still fast, and when her left hand shoots up and wraps around Claire's throat the doctor lets out a slight yelp and wraps both hands around Ryan's wrist.
"Ryan. Please. Don't."
The grip is ferocious and unrelenting. It is not that which scares Claire, however, but the blazing violence in the eyes that are fixed on her face unwaveringly. For a moment Ryan's mouth purses, a sneer appears on her lips, and then unexpectedly she tears her hand away, ripping it from Claire's hands roughly and pulling the doctor away from the car in the process.
"Move!" It's a roared command and Claire darts backwards, her hands now at her own throat protectively. She is not yet looking back when the sharp sound of imploding glass blasts behind her, and when she turns, dazed, it is to see Ryan laying into the passenger seat window with her right fist, breaking every last bit of glass before she moves onto her left hand and the backseat window. When both windows are completely shattered with not a shard remaining in the frame she moves on to the door, beating her fists against it until her movements begin to slow down. It looks garish - the gray of the SUV decorated with smears and spatters of blood. Finally she places both hands flat on the side of the Trailblazer and leans on it for a moment. Claire wants to place a hand on her back, but the angle of her shoulders is sharp and tense, and so the doctor stays back quietly.
With an almost inaudible sigh Ryan presses herself from the car and reaches inside to unlock the passenger door, opening it from the outside. Claire is not sure what she intends to do until she sees the soldier begin to scoop the broken glass off the passenger seat with her bloody hands. Rushing forward she lays a hand on Ryan's shoulder and pulls her back forcefully.
"Ryan, no. Stop."
The lean shoulder shrugs her hand off, but the motions still, and the woman turns around.
"What?" Her voice is thick.
"You're hurting yourself. Stop."
"You can't sit in the seat like this. Glass." She reaches forward again and Claire pulls her back again.
"Wait." Slipping off the jacket Claire wads it up into a ball and begins to brush the glass and blood off the leather seat, only stopping when it's moderately clean. "See? That's fine." When she glances down at the woman's hands the blood is pouring from them and dripping onto the ground freely. With a wince Claire remembers the first-aid kit and its lack of bandages. She is about to speak when Ryan addresses her gently.
"Did I hurt you, Claire?"
"No, you didn't, Ryan. I'm fine." The soldier lifts her hands to Claire's face and she flinches, realizing too late what Ryan will interpret the motion to be. When the woman drops her hands and looks away Claire steps closer and lays a hand carefully on her arm. "Ryan?"
"It's okay."
"Yes, it is, actually. I'm not scared, Ryan, it's just … look at your hands. I don't want to be covered with blood."
"Oh." Lifting her hands to her eyes Ryan studies them without comment. Claire almost chokes - at this level she can properly see the damage; the white of the bone showing through the flesh over the knuckles in several places, the deep cuts and the blood now running down Ryan's arms in streams.
"Oh god. Ryan…"
"Don't faint, Claire."
"No." Taking a deep breath she puts a hand on Ryan's waist and pushes her lightly towards the passenger seat. "Please, sit down." The seat is relatively clean and Ryan perches on the edge quietly. Taking the still bandaged wrists in her hands cautiously Claire examines the battered hands grimly; alarmed by the rate at which Ryan appears to be losing blood. "This is a bit of a mess, soldier. You still have glass in your hands, you've probably taken out anything I could use for that in the kit, and we used up all of the bandages yesterday. Any good ideas?"
"Check at the foot of the back seat. I took Victor's kit this morning."
Exhaling in relief Claire shakes her head at Ryan. "Sheer luck is on your side."
"I think what you mean is I'm gifted."
With a raised eyebrow Claire opens the back door, careful not to cut herself on the glass, and pulls out the bigger first-aid kit, shaking it to dispense of the small pieces of glass resting on it before she zips it open. A pair of clumsy tweezers lies at the bottom and she discards the kit on the floor at the passenger's side, reaching for the full bottle of mineral water lying in the alcove between the seats. Twisting off the cap she takes Ryan's left wrist and pulls it closer, pouring water over it to clear away some of the blood, and wishing that she hadn't done it when she can see most of the damage. It is a messy situation, trying to pry the small shards from the lacerated flesh while the blood keeps welling up and obscuring her vision. When she is more or less finished with the left hand she takes out a small yellow bottle of anti-septic liquid and looks up at Ryan.
"This is definitely going to hurt."
"I know."
The soldier closes her eyes and Claire begins to pour the liquid over the hand. When she looks up again Ryan is motionless, but her face is drained of blood. Taking out some gauze Claire packs it onto the wounds as well as she can, and then wraps it tightly with bandage.
"This isn't going to work for very long. You need stitches here, Ryan."
The woman doesn't answer, but when she glances up Ryan meets her gaze and nods mutely. Biting her lip Claire begins to clean up the right hand, tears involuntarily dropping from her eyes as she surveys the injuries. She wipes them away angrily, but not before one or two fall onto Ryan's hand. She is still hoping that the soldier won't notice, what with the warm blood coating her skin, when Ryan speaks.
"Are you crying, Claire?"
"A bit." She busies herself cleaning the bloody hand.
"A bit like my 'bit of a headache'?"
"No, a real bit. Though that would have served you right." Claire sniffles and almost smiles when she hears the soft guffaw. "So. Are you feeling a bit sore right now?"
"No." The blonde is about to object when Ryan continues. "I hurt like shit."
Smiling to herself at the comment Claire looks up. "You're saying it hurts? Good."
"Sadist?"
"No, I didn't mean… oh, you know exactly what I meant. Stop being a nuisance." She lifts the anti-septic. "I'm sorry - it's that time."
With a slight nod Ryan closes her eyes again and Claire begins to pour the liquid over the open bleeding wounds. She looks up as she does so and catches Ryan unaware for a moment - the soldier has tilted her head back against the headrest and her pale face is furrowed and sad. Biting her lip Claire shifts her eyes back to the hand and finishes cleaning and wrapping it up. When she straightens up it is noticeable to her that Ryan has not shifted her head or opened her eyes yet.
"Ryan?"
"Hmm?" The soldier opens her green eyes languidly. "Are we ready to go?" Lifting her head from the rest she sits up, and it doesn't escape Claire's notice that she suddenly blinks a little faster.
"I don't think it's a good idea for you to be driving."
"I don't think it's a good idea for me to be walking, either." The lean woman lifts a heavily bandaged hand to her face and wipes at her eyes vaguely, then shifts her hand away to wriggle her fairly unresponsive fingers. When her green eyes meet Claire's over the limb she is serious. "Are you sure I didn't hurt you?"
"No. You've never hurt me."
"I have. I hurt your arm at the gas station in Choteau."
"It's a bruise. It goes away." Claire shrugs. "And besides, if you take my hand instead of my arm it won't happen again."
"I wanted to get to know you first, not just kidnap you and start holding hands. I'm not that kind of girl." There is a slight grin on Ryan's tired face, one with a wicked undertone that looks like it belongs with her.
"Oh. So what kind of a girl ar
e you, exactly?" There is an indefinable challenge in Claire's tone. Glancing up at her Ryan pauses for a moment and the grin disappears before she replies.
"You should know. I've told you everything about me."
"No, you haven't."
"Come on, Walsch." Ryan leans her head back tiredly. "You've had me talking since we've gotten into the SUV."
"You've given me all of the facts, that's for sure." Leaning against the vehicle Claire crosses her arms. "It's what you're good at. I can tell. You mention all of the essentials and leave out the personal stuff, and nobody notices because you're telling them exactly what they want to hear."
"I answered the questions you asked me." Shaking her head Ryan moves to get out of the passenger seat. "In any case, we need to get going." She frowns in surprise when the blonde pushes her back strongly.
"No. I was serious. You can't drive like this, Ryan. You're tired, you're losing blood, and god knows what's hammering in that head of yours." She inclines her head and rolls her eyes at the unintentional pun. "Sorry. You know what I mean."
"I was serious too, Walsch. I'm certainly not going to get very far walking right now."
"I'm going to drive."
Raising her eyebrows Ryan sits up. "Excuse me?"
"I can drive. I can. I just need to … work on it." She walks around the SUV and gets into the drivers' seat, noticing that Ryan slips off the child-lock before closing her door. The soldier is looking at her with her green eyes soft for the first time.
"I don't want you to do this, Claire. If I just rest a little I'll be fine."
"I need to do this some time, right?" Though she tries very hard to keep her tone humorous her voice trembles. Grasping the steering wheel tightly she grits her teeth. Fingers lightly cover hers and rub gently.
"Ease up on the grip, Chuck Norris. You're going to break something."
"Okay. Okay." She wills her hands to reduce the pressure.
"Turn the key."
When she does she begins to cry, at first soft sobs and then louder, until tears are streaming down her face and her chest is heaving. She can feel Ryan's fingers in her hair, caressing her head lightly, and as she gasps for air she glances over through her tears to see the green eyes fixed on her quietly. Leaning forward she hides her face against her arms on the steering wheel and cries like she hasn't in a long time. When, finally, her tears diminish and a strange sort of tired calmness seeps into her, she feels the warm hand resting soothingly on her back. Wiping her face with both hands she sits upright and gives an awkward little laugh.
"I'm sorry."
"What for?" The soldier offers her heavily bandaged hand. "Want to blow your nose?"
With a snorted laugh Claire raises her eyebrows. "No. But thanks for being so thoughtful." When she realizes that the vehicle's engine is still running she looks over at Ryan briefly to find inscrutable green eyes fixed on the horizon.
"So, are we going to do this?"
"Yes. Yes, we are." With a careful glance over her shoulder and trembling hands Claire steers the car back onto the road, gratified when she feels a hand lightly pat her leg in congratulations before the soldier cradles it cautiously in her lap. When Claire sneaks a look at Ryan the soldier has her eyes closed, her face colorless and exhausted. Frowning, the blonde reaches out with her right hand and touches the other woman's knee softly.
"Ryan?"
"Hmm?"
"I know I said that you needed to sleep, but I'm a little worried about you, so I don't think it'd be the best idea right now. Okay?"
"All right." Ryan curls her fingers a little against the bandage as she stares at her hands.
"Maybe we can talk a bit?"
The soldier chuckles dryly. "It's an excuse. I know it is."
"Maybe. I'm sneaky that way." Claire glances sideways with a smile. "I promise I won't play rough this time."
"Pity, I kind of like that." There's a ghost of a grin around her lips. "That came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that."
"Somehow I think you do." Grinning at the surprised expression she shrugs. "I tell you what. You can talk about anything. I'll listen." When the soldier begins to protest she interrupts. "I need the distraction, Ryan. Okay?"
Noting the tight grip Ryan nods. "Okay. Anything?"
Claire nods. "Anything."
Turning her head Ryan stares out of the window, her eyes far away. "You said that I hide behind facts, that I tell people the basic truth and don't let them in any further. You're the same, Claire. Except you hide behind other people's truth and pain so that you don't have to face your own. You like to listen to others because that means you don't have to say anything, and even when you do, it's not about you. You've worked so hard to keep people at arms' length, to not let anybody close enough to hurt you, that you're not used to being looked at. Or looked after. You're in such need of concern that you fall apart at the first sign of it, even if it comes from somebody you should be running away from."
She glances back to see tears trailing down the blonde's cheeks. Lifting a hand she lightly wipes them with the back of her index finger. "Claire? Am I wrong?"
"No. Of course you're not." The blonde turns teary blue eyes on her. "You seem to know exactly what's going on inside me. I find it a little disconcerting. What's inside isn't always pretty."
"What a pair we make." Ryan smiles slightly. "Desperately in need of interior decorating."
With a chuckle Claire shakes her head. "Yeah. Next topic. And Ryan?" She looks at the soldier with a touch of sadness in her eyes. "Don't talk about me this time, okay? Something else."
"All right." Ryan nods and turns her head to look out of the window again. "Something else." Her voice is soft. "I can't take this thing anymore, Claire. One more time and it's going to kill me."
They don't speak much after Ryan's surprisingly frank statement. Claire makes sure that the soldier doesn't fall asleep, glancing over now and then to see the woman's head turned away as she looks out of the window at the passing landscape. The doctor has her panic down to a mild discomfort, and to distract herself she ponders about why she will not let Ryan go to sleep. After all, should the woman fall asleep and stay that way, she could drive into the nearest town and simply go right to the police station. She also ponders the things Ryan said about her. The SEAL doesn't pull her punches, she thinks wryly, but she has a clear insight which, if Claire thinks about it too long, becomes a little daunting. Idly she changes her direction of thought, wondering why, if they are being watched as Ryan says, nobody is pursuing them. Or finding them.
In Neihart she pulls off into the parking lot of a small shopping center with a pharmacy and 'mom and pop' grocery store. Reaching back she takes the wallet out of the black bag, ignoring the cold feel of metal as she extracts her hand.
"I'll be right back."
"Claire." She turns to face the soldier. "Please leave the keys. If you walk away I need to drive."
"I'm not going anywhere." The blonde tosses the keys on the driver's seat. "Here. I'll be right back."
Inside the grocery store she stands for a moment and considers seriously whether she should phone the police. She is berating herself so much that the rotund guy in the stripy apron stacking cereal approaches her politely.
"Excuse me, miss. Are you all right?"
"Yes. Yes, fine, thank you. I'm looking for … " she casts around for an item, blank for the moment, "soda."
"That would be in the fridge at the back." Shooting an odd look at the stationery shelf where she is standing, and then at her, he turns and goes back to stacking boxes. Emitting a nervous little chuckle she gets the soda, and one or two other things, and then exits. She can feel the green eyes fixed on her as she goes into the pharmacy, and when she comes out Ryan's eyes are closed. Getting into the SUV she puts the bag with the groceries in it on the floor at Ryan's feet, and then she scrabbles in the pharmacy-branded brown paper bag for a moment.
"Let me see your hands, Ryan."
The soldier h
olds them out to her without protest and she begins to unwrap the bandages, wincing as she realizes that they are soaked with blood almost to the outer layer already. Taking out a small pack of anti-bacterial wipes she tries to clean them off as well as possible, disheartened by the speed with which the blood seeps out. Then, as gently as she can, she tries to pull the edges of the larger gashes together and close them with small butterfly plasters. It takes a while, and it doesn't seem to help much, but she feels as if at least she's tried. Covering the battered hands with new gauze pads she wraps them tightly and tucks the edges in at the wrist.
