@ridethemrough
she thinks nothing of it when the first bullet tears into her abdomen. for the first few moments her world seems filled with bullets-- like burning spears of pain-- they rip through her and she doesn’t have time to calculate how many she ends up with-- doesn’t have time to think about the trouble she has gotten herself into. instead she phones it in and manages to call 911 before succumbing to blood loss and pain.
when she wakes she’s patched up and bullet free-- even though she still feels like swiss cheese. a part of her had hoped for a relatively normal evening-- a pick up and then a bridget jones marathon. instead she’d watched several of xin’s men die in what had been the bloodiest show of power she’d ever had the displeasure of seeing.
they’re all patched up and sent on their way eventually-- she get’s an extended stay mostly because of the sheer damage-- and she tells xin that she managed to get the information but that she’d be unreachable for a few days. she isn’t sure what else to share--she’s sure his men will relay the rest of the details to him.
it isn’t until she’s hobbling around her kitchen a few days later in a pair of silk pyjamas that it occurs that she should have said more-- but he has enough to think about. not that she’s convinced he’d think about her anyway. despite one amazing night of sex-- neither have had any real time to talk. she’d woken up to a job that required her presence in paris and whatever they had started in his bedroom had ended there-- she hadn’t even seen him since she’d been back. the bullets had interrupted her plans to show him her new french lingerie.
when she wakes to his surly presence in her kitchen yet again she’s almost completely unsurprised. “I hope you came here to make me eggs. do you want tea? i’m putting the kettle on.”