85 + 14 :)))
85: Innocent Physical Contact
14: Bodyguard AU
oh, @crazyrebelscarves you got me good with this one, you really did...
He was nowhere, and then suddenly, he was everywhere.
An arm around her waist; the cushion of a palm cradling the back of her skull. His chest pressed to hers, tucking her face into the collar of his button-down. The passive knowledge of him crowding her space—the only sensation left as the world crumbled. As a thunder-clap boom shook the earth, bringing chunks of ceiling down like crushing stalactites, sending dust flying like the air itself suddenly solidified into particles of debris.
Coughing, then, as the world crystallized. It took her a moment to realize it was her own; a muscular impulse from her spasming lungs, full of smoke and hacking saliva.
A few realizations came when her surroundings—the hotel lobby where Dad was set to give his speech in a few minutes—shuttered back into hazy focus.
First, that she was on the ground. Either that, or the entire world had tilted; but judging by the feeling of an expensive Oriental rug underneath her back and the fact that her legs were currently flat out in front of her and not supporting her weight, she'd wager the former.
Second, that she someone had set off some odd sort of alarm, one that carried in a single, unchanging note, so loud that it drowned out all other noise in the room. It sounded like how those heart-rate monitors always did on the telly after someone died—high-toned and ringing. Ceaseless.
Third, that she was in a good amount of pain.
That one came when she blinked and tried to extricate herself from the weight atop her, only to cry out noiselessly and drop back into the prone position she'd started in. Ow. Not a good idea.
But then, without warning, the weight shifted, freeing her arms a bit and giving her a bit of room to move; not that she wanted to, with the recently-set precedent of pain that action would bring.
Then the weight was James, his face only about ten centimeters from her own, tendrils of his ever-messy raven hair dangling down over his forehead. He was above her, she decided. She was on the ground and he was above her, and he was—for some reason—mouthing words at her. His lips were moving but no sound was coming out. Only the ringing alarm, the cutting sharpness of it. One single note. Wobbling and distorting as her head shifted. Was that how notes worked?
Awareness, in this moment, belated and swimming. Poorly formed.
There was no alarm. Her ears were ringing. She tried hard to focus on James's mouth; ignore the dirt streaked across his cheekbone. Was that blood on his forehead? His, hers?
Noise begun to filter in, as well; almost like it was waiting for her to recognize its absence. A fickle, petty thing. Clawing for attention when there was so much else going on. The air was still gray. The ceiling was...not really the ceiling anymore.
She scrunched her nose, as though that might drive the barrage of new noise away; it came too much, too fast. She nearly preferred the ringing, nearly missed it as it began to fade.
"—you hear me? Lily? Say something!"
He wasn't mouthing words, after all.
She tried to answer him—really, she did—but all her body could do was cough and spit. His eyes were wide, wild; he braced one arm next to her head—he'd just gotten that shirt pressed, she'd complimented it that morning, and now there was a hole by the elbow—and brought the other wrist to his mouth. There was a cut on his lip.
"Chaser One—this is Chaser One—Nightingale compromised. I need transport to the lobby and medical on-site ASAP. And I want this place locked down. Now."
"Ja—" another cough, but minute progress. She would take what she could get. "Jam—"
His attention, unwavering; back on her face. Eyes still wild. "Lily?" He repeated. He placed the other arm on the opposite side of her head. His entire body caged her in, blocking her from the rest of the room, and for some reason, she felt completely safe; even knowing (as she now did) that someone had just set off a bomb at her father's campaign speech. "Lily, can you tell me what hurts?"
"Dad, a-and Mum…"
"They're alright," he said quickly, almost brusquely. "You were coming out first. Remember? You were going to introduce your father to the crowd. But I need you to tell me what hurts."
A quick self-assessment. What did hurt? Everything hurt.
"Right leg," she whimpered, as the truth of it became unignorable. "And my left wrist. I-I think it's—it's broken…"
"Fuck," he swore, which he rarely ever did. Usually, she would tease him for it. "Alright—I'm going to carry you out of here."
Carry her? But what about—
"But what about you?"
He shook his head and scowled. "I'm fine," he said, though he didn't sound happy about it. Like he was angry to be alright when she wasn't.
"Are you sure—"
"Lily." He cut her off with a heated look. There was something behind his eyes, hard and determined, but with something else lying underneath. Her head was too cottony to decipher. "I'm getting you out of here and into an ambulance. End of story."
Lily swallowed (and winced, though she hoped he didn't notice). An ambulance sounded nice, actually. A gurney and morphine. Sounded better than Aruba or the Maldives at the moment.
"Okay," she whispered, and he nodded, leaning back on his heels to slip an arm under the small of her back (carefully, so carefully) and another under her knees.
It only took him a matter of seconds to get her off the ground and start toward the emergency exit. He spoke to her along the way, telling her how well she was doing, how soon they'd be in an ambulance.
"James?" She interrupted him mid-sentence, and he turned to look at her, eyes scanning. The door was only a few meters away, now.
"Yeah?"
"Those fuckers didn't even let me do my speech."
He laughed, which made her smile. Her goal achieved. Something about this day that wasn't completely terrifying.
If he squeezed the skin of her calf playfully as he pushed the double-door open with his shoulder, it was only to boost her spirits. To keep up morale. Innocent. Professional, even.
