My Neighbor, Mr. Rogers

Chapter Twenty-Seven - The Eagles!

If I could cry, I would.

Steve and James run in, concern plain on their faces.

"Anne?" Steve sounds nearly as broken as I feel, his eyes darting over every part of me, assessing the damage.

James doesn't say anything. Instead, he makes quick work of my restraints, ripping them off with his metal hand.

"We have her," Steve says– I'm assuming –to the rest of the team on their comm system. His hand absently drifts towards the knife still in my leg.

James grabs his wrist, interrupting his movements. "Leave it," he says. "She doesn't need another point of blood loss. Wait until we're on the quinjet."

Steve nods, coming back to his senses. "I'll carry her out, you clear the way."

James agrees to his plan while Steve moves to pick me up, but I stop him.

"Acid," I explain roughly. "Eats through everything." He might've burned his hand.

Steve adjusts, scooping me up bridal style with my broken, left arm away from his chest.

I can't help the wet sob that escapes my lips. The movement tears at my stabbed leg, freshens the fire in my right leg, and makes my lungs feel like I'm breathing shattered glass. The change in position forces me to make my breaths shallow.

"You've been shot," Steve says through clenched teeth.

I don't respond because the answer is obvious now that I'm not bent over. Besides, I'm too busy coughing blood all over myself. I hook my right arm around Steve's neck, trying to stabilize myself a little better. Once I do, we take off out the door. Steve does his best to move smoothly and I'd probably be impressed if every little jolt didn't send spasms of white-hot pain through my system.

I rest my head against his chest, wondering if I can make myself pass out the same way I could slow my heartbeat.

We move through what feels like miles of hallway, stopping occasionally for James to beat the tar out of a few people in our way. Once or twice Steve spins his back to the action and drops to one knee, putting his shield that's hanging from his back between us and the gunfire.

I'm now feeling extremely sleepy. Too much blood gone.

We get stuck near our exit. James does what he can, but there're a lot of soldiers and they all have guns. Steve gently props me in a doorway, shielded from what's happening further down the hall where James is.

"I'll be right back," he promises, looking loath to leave. He moves my right hand over the hole in my stomach. "Keep as much pressure here as you can," he instructs half-heartedly.

I nod weakly. We both know I don't have enough strength to do much good.

Jaw clenched, he stands and runs to join James out of my line of sight. Sitting alone, where it's a bit quieter, makes my fight against sleep that much harder. My hand begins to slip from my abdomen and my eye that can still open begins to flutter closed. I also notice that I'm shivering and I can't stop.

But the sound of footsteps jolts me to my senses and I feel that switch flip in my head again.

'Two sets. Not bothering to sneak up on my boys but still treading softly.'

I relax slightly.

'Nat and Clint. Wait. I recognized the sounds of their boots?'

They soon appear and startle when they see me. Nat drops to a knee to check on me while Clint stays standing, looking behind them, gun drawn.

"She's bleeding out," she assesses and presses on my gunshot wound to slow the flow.