[She curses beneath her breath-- and it's funny, because she doesn't care about him, but still there's sweat at her temples and suddenly everything seems distant. Old memories keep wanting to get in the way of the task at hand, and she can't pay them mind because this boy isn't going to stay alive much longer if she keeps getting distracted.]
Damn it--
[What are her chances? One in eight, ostensibly, but more like one in three, if he's got AB he can take her, or A-- really, she thinks, shoving up her sleeve, the only thing will be if he has type O blood, that'll be a problem, but so will his dying of blood loss. She grabs the needle and IV from her kit. It takes her far less time than it ought for her to slip it in her arm, and his, and then . . .
Then, she works faster, tending to his leg, keeping an eye on his color and his reaction, hoping that for once, things will go the way she never, ever thinks they do.]
no subject
Damn it--
[What are her chances? One in eight, ostensibly, but more like one in three, if he's got AB he can take her, or A-- really, she thinks, shoving up her sleeve, the only thing will be if he has type O blood, that'll be a problem, but so will his dying of blood loss.
She grabs the needle and IV from her kit. It takes her far less time than it ought for her to slip it in her arm, and his, and then . . .
Then, she works faster, tending to his leg, keeping an eye on his color and his reaction, hoping that for once, things will go the way she never, ever thinks they do.]