When you can't run | Oneshot featuring Rory.
The words ran through his head. Malcolm had told him the words on the flight back from the Capitol, during the first rescue mission. He was sure, sometime in the distant past, he'd heard Xena muttering the same words. When you can't run, you crawl, and when you can't do that, you find someone to carry you. It reminded him of Rory, among others. She never gave up, pushing herself to her limits time and time again. If he could, he would be the one to carry her when she needed him to.
He couldn't now, not with the way his vision went fuzzy and her words seemed to become a blur, too. If this was his life flashing before his eyes, he really didn't get it. Shouldn't Alma be in there somewhere too? It felt like he was asleep, his body still and almost disconnected, but his mind was wandering, wide awake. The last thing he remembered was a flurry of pain. Was there an explosion? No, it was the echo and chatter of guns. Then where was he?
Rory had pulled him back, behind the corner of an old, falling down building while the other members of their squad took up fire, exchanging shots with the peacekeepers down the street, hidden behind their own makeshift shelter. She was frantically looking over his chest, pressing her hands to this spot and that. Though he couldn't feel it much, he saw her hands glisten red with blood when she lifted them, moving up to a different wound.
He had reached out, grabbed her when she strolled on ahead, unaware on the tension in the air. He felt it, breathed it, understood what it meant. With long legs, Jedediah stepped forward, becoming her shield as his grip tugging her back. The first bullet found his chest, ripping through him and sending sharp pain up his nerves. He didn't have time to feel it, instead collecting the bullets and pain like a bouquet of flowers, unable to take it all in until he was dropping to his knees. They prepare you to take one bullet, but nothing will ever prepare you to take twelve.
"This area has resisted the strongest against our troops. They've been hitting us hard after they've had time to regroup and retreat back to hold their ground. We have to smoke them out before they can raise the casualty count even higher." He had made sure to get everything he could from the wounded soldiers that had been carted back to Thirteen the week before their departure. If they were right, the Capitol stronghold would be on this block. Rather than wait to hear the plan of attack, Rory ventured forward, stepping onto the street and under the streetlight that had burst into life moments before with the setting sun.
They'd landed on the outskirts of town long before sunrise, giving the hovercraft time to take off again without being spotted. The slow move across the almost deserted town could have rivaled the flight. They stopped to aid civilians, check strongholds and speak with the commander already in place in Eight. The day had long since grown weary when Boggs had them stop, collected beside an old factory.
"I'm surprised they've even held onto Eight this long," Boggs mused as he sat in front of the president's desk, watching her go through various papers. "If I was leading their army, I would be focusing on an agriculture district, they could stand to lose the fabric factories." "Regardless of why they're doing it, we need to get control." He could seen the crease marks forming on her forehead from her scrunched brows and firm frown on her face as Alma opened another folder. "And Rory's coming?" He knew he was pushing his luck, but he knew he could look out for her if she was with him. It could lift her spirits, help her get better. "Make sure she's ready," Coin replied, having long since given up on arguing the matter when it was already settled. "You leave in 12 hours."
The was a lack of sound in his room, long since having gotten rid of his alarm. He didn't need it, his body was attuned to waking up early over the years. There were papers on his desk, probably last minute mission files for him to go over. Dressed and with the files under his arm, Jedediah made his way down the hallway, directing himself to the cafeteria. "Good morning, commander," someone greets as they pass. Boggs cracks a smile. "Yes it is."
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