(no subject)
It is raining. It has been for several minutes, now. Elsewhere in the park, there are shouting voices, gunfire, and an isolated explosion. None of them bode very well, and when Erik finally comes jogging through a nearby hedge into a dimly-lit clearing guarded by a statue and two stone benches, it's to trip. He stumbles, and falls, pale and muddy into wet grass. A helicopter churns uncertaintly after him, flying low under the cloud cover.
Kneeling to pray in perfect silence beneath the heavy trunk of an oak tree, Valkyrie waited in the spattering rain and mud. She rose with the shouts and gunfire, and stood frozen with her hand pressed to the tree's bark at the sound of an explosion. Heedless of the threat of the helicopter above, she darts to his side, skidding a little on the wet grass before she drops to her knees at his side. Her hair is bound in a severe tail, drawn back tightly from her face, but a few strands escape to fall forward about her cheeks and neck as she looks down at him. "No, no," Ellen whispers at him, authoritatively. No dying allowed. She presses her fingertips to his face and neck, breath escaping in a rush.
Magneto is cold, and wet. Still breathing, if wheezily, as he lifts a hand to clamp it over hers. "Ellen," he says, eyes rolling a bit to track after her. He has been shot. Three times. Right arm, a graze through the muscle in his neck, and a more serious path ripped through his liver. He's lost a lot of blood. "Evening."
"Good evening, sir, hush," Ellen admonishes quietly, leaning over him with shoulders tensed and hands pressed close to his skin. She attempts to shield him from the rainfall and, perhaps, from searching eyes, with the narrow bulk of her body, although it is a little futile. "You have been damaged severely." She sets to work right away, diving through the cells of his body to tackle the worst of the injuries first. His liver, never her favorite of his organs, begins to repair itself under her command.
Ceramic has splintered into the organ such that its removal may be complex on short notice. A task, perhaps, better saved for a time when helicopter search lights aren't blazing about the area. "Response times," he mutters randomly after a short pause, failing to follow directions. His hand lifts from hers to feel gingerly over his own neck, where blood only lingers as long as it takes the rain to wash it away. "This isn't going to work."
Ellen does not spend a ridiculous amount of time throwing herself against tasks that would be better postponed. Rather, she changes gears, blinkin slowly in her focus, to stabilize him as best she can. Trying to figure out what he means is mental effort that the healer does not spare. She only asks, "Sir?"
"What?" Erik inquires promptly, if somewhat deliriously, and his hand moves again, this time to wipe mud and grit from his face while she works.
"I will need to get you someplace safer," Ellen tells him after a blank-eyed delay wherein she did little beyond replenish missing blood. She licks her lips, swallows, and looks up into the overhanging branches of the trees that provide such meager shelter. "Out of the rain. You can lean on me, sir."
"I enjoy the rain." It's not an argument so much as a statement of opinion. Perforated arm held to his chest, he uses the other to lever himself up into a sitting position, and then up onto his feet. He does not respond to her offer of leaning assistance. Perhaps he didn't hear it. "How far is the car?"
Ellen hovers nearby, and makes certain to keep a hand upon his skin so as to monitor closely whether any of his injuries seem about to take a turn for the worse. "Not too far," she says, although the flick of her gaze back through the trees suggests some concern on her part as to whether or not that will turn out to be in error.
"I saw someone today with a motorbike. Perhaps we could look into one of those." Blood, not enough blood, blood again. Erik is seeing a lot of fuzz around the fringes of his vision, and his heart is hammering at the back of his sternum. Adrenaline. Endorphins. He's something of a chemical mess, and he's watching Ellen more closely than he is paying attention to the potential for ambush even as chopper blades sweep low overhead once more.
"Probably not very practical, sir," Ellen demurs in a distracted sort of way. She leads him through the trees, narrowly avoiding this root or that, and continually glancing up into the sky for fear of being spotted by helicopters. She is a pale sort of person to be hiding in shadow, after all.
Magneto trails shockily in her wake, stumbling as he goes despite a fair amount of effort placed into being dignifed despite the mud and...everything. Once or twice, it sounds like footfalls cross the path behind them, but no shots are fired.
Ellen has reached an adrenal state of alertness wherein she takes note of everything, expecting death or capture at every footfall. Sharply sweeping their path with her gaze, her heart racing and pale beads of sweat upon her forehead to mingle with the rainfall, she leads him back through the park towards the car. "Here," she says finally, squinting after another pass of the helicopter has left them unscathed, "--here we are."
In through the nose, out through the mouth. His initial good cheer at not being dead having worn off, Erik times his breathing to every couple of steps. By the time they reach the car, he has braced a hand against her shoulder, and is well on his way to significant blood loss again. He stares at the car. For several seconds, in fact, before he decides: "You should drive, I think."
"Yes, sir," Ellen says gravely. "That might be advisable." She starts to open the door, and then, reluctantly, looses her hold on Erik to go around to the other side of the car and open the driver's side door instead. Sitting behind the wheel as stiffly as though she were made of stone, both hands tightly gripping the wheel while she waits for him to get situated, she looks a little absurdly out of place.
Patient, if ghastly, Erik lowers himself down into the passengers side and closes the door. For a minute, he just sits, panting, hands shaking, eyes closed, all the while damp and dirty enough that he might have literally just clawed out of his own grave. Then he opens his eyes, and looks over at Ellen. He fastens his seatbelt.
Erik is wise. Ellen starts the car, and stares at the dashboard for a moment as though she is trying to remember what all of it means. Then she looks over her shoulder, checking all of her mirrors with the somber intensity of someone who is more familiar with the /rules/ of an activity than with its actual practice. Then, with great solemnity, she slams on the gas pedal. The headlights go on when the hit the road, and the windshield wipers follow a moment later. Just like magic!
Magneto is thrown back into the seat a bit by rapid acceleration, and tints a little whiter about the face when his internal organs all scrunch up, including the bleeding ones. "Turn signal," he reminds, hoarsely. They are going to die.
"Oh," Ellen says, reaching to gingerly operate tehe signal in question as she turns. She wears an expression of intense concentration as she drives, attempting apparently to process the entire road and all of the traffic on it at once. It is an intensity, coupled with a tendency towards herky jerk acceleration and deceleration, that usually does not occur in women drivers under seventy.
Magneto resigns himself to a certain amount of aggravated pain when the pedal slamming does not seem likely to stop, and falls into terse silence, remarking only that they might start keeping painkillers in the car at a redlight somewhere along the way.
But eventually! Despite the wonder of her driving, they survive long enough to reach a point of safety. It takes Ellen a moment to pry her hands loose from the steering wheel for some reason. She mumbles something that may be an apology. But then, at least, they are safely out.
"You did fine," Erik lies unconvincingly, skull-faced and slack about the neck and shoulders. He does not try to get out. He is not feeling very well, and vaguely resembles a lizard whose had his tail pulled off, with dark circles around his eyes and a general sluggishness to his movements. But he is alive, and will live.
Ellen should not be the getaway driver. Okay? Okay.