"Come on...come on!"
Blood had pooled on the floor beneath her, her lips stained with it, his hands stained with the same blood as he compressed her chest. The silver chain around her neck dangled to the side, the cross attached to it dipped in her own blood. If Gideon were a religious man, he might've prayed.
A part of Gideon feared he might crack her ribs from the force of the compressions but he couldn't stop, he had to keep going, he had to keep trying. He could feel the heat beginning to drain from her body, desperate tears pricking at his eyes as he kept trying.
Not Dottie. Please, God, not Dottie.
He'd already been unable to save the six other agents, and it was his fault. Please, just let him do this one thing right. Let her be saved.
What would Spencer say? If he couldn't save her, Spencer would never forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself either. They'd known each other since they were children, Gideon knew that much, and he couldn't take Spencer's best friend from him.
He heard the familiar telltale cracking of bones and Gideon choked on air as if they were his own ribs straining, but he didn't stop. He had to keep going.
"Please, Dottie. You've got to pull through."
Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his neck, blood stained his hands, his palms were damp and he couldn't see through his own tears.
Despite his attempts, Dottie didn't stir. She didn't so much as flinch, not even the slightest fluttering of the eyelids or twitch of the fingers. The life had seeped out of her with her blood. She was cold, the colour fading from her face.
Gideon vaguely registered a hand on his shoulder, a voice in his ear, arms hooking under his to pull him away. But he fought. He screamed and flailed desperately against the arms of whoever was pulling him away, desperate to get back to Dottie, despairing as she grew smaller in his field of view.
Dottie was gone.
Dead.
And all Gideon could do was scream.
But then there was a cough.
It wasn't his own, he knew that much. But he could've been hallucinating, or he heard someone else coughing and it most certainly wasn't Dottie.
Until her chest started moving. Spasming as she desperately gasped for air, choking on nothing while she writhed on the floor.
Gideon found the strength to tear himself from the grasp of whoever had pulled him away, dropping to his knees beside Dottie and holding her, her head propped against his elbow as she straddled the line of consciousness.
"You're okay now, I've got you, I've got you."
~*~
Seeing her like this nearly ripped the heart out of Spencer's chest. He felt like he'd been punched in the stomach when he walked into her room in the hospital. The heart monitor attached to her felt like the loudest thing in the world at that moment, the air of the room stiff and silent without it.
A blood bag was hooked up to her and an oxygen mask covered her mouth, she could not breathe on her own just yet. Her brow was furrowed deeply, as if even in her unconscious state she was still in anguish.
He wasn't quite sure what to make of it all, Gideon hadn't been able to tell him much, too deep in the throes of shock to be all that coherent. The extent of what he had garnered was that Dottie was the only survivor among seven agents sent in after Bale's arrest and that Gideon almost certainly blamed himself.
A part of Spencer wanted to blame Gideon too, but he knew that wasn't fair. He didn't know. And Dottie was still here in spite of it all. She was alive.
Spencer approached the bedside, standing over Dottie. Her necklace and all her usual jewellery had been removed, of course. Even her favourite bracelet. She wouldn't be happy about that when she woke up, she'd need something to put her mind on and that would be the first she'd notice.
Spencer looked down at his own wrist, seeing the makeshift bracelet fastened to it. He was almost never without it, not since Dottie made it; when his name wasn't Spencer yet and Dottie was still taller than him.
He gingerly pulled it off his wrist, eyeing it for a moment. It was made of elastic so he wouldn't grow out of it, lined with multicoloured beads that Dottie had chosen with him in mind. It was mostly made up of purple, as it was his favourite colour. She called it his lucky bracelet. Really, it was a friendship bracelet, Dottie had one of her own.
Spencer had made it for her after she'd gifted him his. It took about six hours of struggling and getting angry with beads and elastics, but he'd made it for her. Dottie always had a fondness for black and white, so he'd made the bracelet in those shades.
But she didn't have it right now. So Spencer slipped his on her wrist instead, so she'd know when she woke up that he was there, that he was thinking of her. He wouldn't be able to stay for very long, as much as he wanted to, so he tried to take advantage of the time he did have.
As his hand retreated from her wrist, his fingertips brushed against her partially unfurled hand, feeling the short scars on her knuckles and fingers. She'd never told him how she got those, but he had a few theories.
"You'll be alright." Spencer finally said. He wasn't sure if she could hear him, and at this point it was more like he was reassuring himself.
She didn't wake, but her fingers twitched lightly, brushing against his lingering hand.
"I'll come back, I promise. You won't be here alone."