2007-03-21: Cracks in the Armour

Starring:

Mara_icon.gif Nathan_icon.gif

Summary: A seriously injured Detective Damaris calls in a different sort of backup. (OOC Note: This log immediately follows Shoot-Out at the DnA Club.)

Date It Happened: March 21, 2007

Cracks in the Armour


Club DnA's, Mount Sinai Hospital

PHONE: Mara dials the number 283-6969. It begins to ring.

PHONE: The other end answers, "Hello?"

PHONE: Mara says, "Nathan? It's Mara."

PHONE: Nathan pauses then there seems to be the sound of a door shutting. "Hey."

PHONE: Mara's voice is strained and there's an obviously pained hiss and the sound of something scraping against a surface. "I'm hurt. I'm hurt real bad. I need help."

PHONE: Nathan says, "What happened?" A brief pause, then he asks, "Where are you?"

PHONE: Mara says, "Club DnA. Near my apartment. Fuuuuuuck! Please, please, please. Help me. I can't be found here. You're the only one I know who can beat the cops."

PHONE: Nathan says, "Jesus, Mara." A sigh, more of frustration than irritation. "I'll help you. I'll be there quickly."

PHONE: Mara's phone makes a clattering sound as it is apparently dropped. The faint sound that follows is quite possibly vomiting.

PHONE: Nathan's own phone becomes muffled, presumably as Nathan moves it away, although a distinct cursing is heard before the dial tone.

PHONE: The phone call has been ended by Nathan.

The scene at Club DnA's is chaos. There are people rushing out of the front doors in a panic. From the chatter, Nathan is able to determine that there was a shooting in the VIP room. The back door is easy enough to get into, and the bouncer seems to be more occupied with ushering people out than keeping people from getting in.

The VIP room is a mess. Chairs are overturned, there's bullet holes in walls and furniture, and there's an unconscious man on a couch against the back wall. He doesn't appear to have been shot. On the floor, however, is Mara. She's bleeding from bullet wounds on the right side of her body. Where he finds her is obviously not where she began, if the smear of blood across the concrete flooring is any indication. She's got a pistol clutched in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She has her head turned away from the puddle of sick that resulted when she tried to get to her feet.

Having arrived quick enough to support that Mara was quite correct in suggesting he'd get there faster than any cop, Nathan manages to push his way through the crowd, heading in the direction people are more running from than to. The chaos is better, however, than order, and no one questions him as he moves through the people, searching the area for Mara. It doesn't take him very long, and he moves to kneel by her, eyes on her injuries though a hand moves to her arm. "Mara."

Mara opens her eyes slowly with a groan. "Fuuuuuuuuck. He shot me, Nathan. He fucking shot me." She shot him first, but that's because he was a /bad guy/. He totally deserved it. The woman lifts her head weakly, there's a bloody trail across her right cheekbone to suggest she was kissed by a bullet there. But the worst of the injuries are at right leg, possibly originating at the knee. With all the blood, it's hard to say exactly where she was hit.

"Yeah, he did," Nathan says, although really, he has no clue as to 'he' is. He makes his guesses, however, and doesn't ask, for now. As of now, he's unreadable, almost business-like, although it takes effort to draw his eyes away from the wounds to her face. His cellphone is pulled from his pocket and flipped open, and he dials three numbers. "You need an ambulance," is the explanation he spares her.

"No! No! Not here!" Mara reaches weakly for Nathan's arm. "You- Don't. Please. He already- He said I came in here and started shooting." There's no hiding the desperation in her voice. "I'm already on thin ice with the department. If they find me here- Don't let them find me here."

Nathan curses and just snaps the cellphone shut again. Figures. Why else would she call him? "Not here," he agrees, reluctantly. He then pushes his arm under her shoulders, in the beginnings of a hold not unlike the way he did when he first flew her. His other arm is hesitant, though, to go under her obviously messed up leg. "This is gonna hurt."

"I know," Mara forces a miserable smile, shoving her gun and phone into a purse slung across her body. Then she reaches up to wrap her arms around Nathan. "I'll try not to scream in your ear."

"Appreciated," Nathan says, with a tight smile. He tries to make it both quick and painless, but really, the latter is up to Mara as he scoops her up and levers himself to stand, at the very least achieving the former. He moves across the now far emptier space, trying to keep her body still.

Try as she might, Mara can't keep from shrieking when she's lifted. Her right knee is blown out. There's denying it, the way it hangs awkwardly when she's lifted off the floor. At least everything's still attached. The woman buries her face into the politician's shoulder and stifles her sobs.

Nathan? Is just praying he didn't make the mess that is her wound any worse. But really, what can you do? "It's okay, you're good, doing good," he mutters to her, words of encouragement, as they move through the club. He's not running, but his pace is brisk and full of authority. It isn't long until they're outside between buildings, having taken the back way. "I'm taking you to a hospital. You can figure out what to do from there but your leg needs attention," Nathan says, meanwhile checking to see if they're really alone.

Mara's breaths are heavy and labored against Nathan's collar. She'd love to argue with him, but… hospitals have morphine, and she'd /really/ like some of that right about now. "Fine. Fine. Anything."

The only acknowledgment Mara gets for her answer is a rush of cold air and vertigo. Nathan does not go rocketing as he would normally - no breaking the sound barrier tonight - but he's quick, not wishing to prolong the journey anymore than Mara does. He almost huddles the detective to him as he goes, and the landing is careful - but still a sharp jolt all the same. He's moving as soon as his feet hit the ground, barely a minute from Mt. Sinai. "Bet you're wishing you got an ambulance now, huh?" he mutters to her.

Mara only whimpers when the world becomes a blur beneath she and Nathan. Is it a jolt? Yeah. Does it kind of suck? Yeah, yeah it does. But all the same, it'll get her where she wants to be, faster than she would be otherwise. "Never," she responds, "I'd pick Air Petrelli over a bus any day."

That gets a chuckle from Nathan, a sort of strained, stressed out chuckle, but it's there. "Yeah, well. Thank you for flying." His pace quickens as the doors to the hospital come within range. "Drugs soon. Think painkiller cocktails," is his last peace of reassurance before stepping inside, announcing their presence with a loud: "I need help over here!"

"And gin? Mmm. Gin." Warm and fuzzy thoughts of gin, yes. Mara digs her nails into Nathan's back momentarily as she lets out a strangled cry when she bounces the wrong way. If his call didn't draw enough attention, she certainly has now. Hospital staff scramble about and Mara pleads, "Don't leave me." Her head tips back, hanging limply as she finally loses consciousness.

Mara is taken off his hands quickly, her last words before passing out not lost on Nathan, who rubs his arms as if only just becoming aware of the ache in them. A quick glance towards the exit, and that's all the consideration the idea of leaving gets as Nathan remains within the building. Hospitals truly suck, and he looks distinctively uncomfortable, even as he's told of the nature of Mara's injuries, that he can stay if he likes, and what happened. The story comes easy - they were walking, there was a guy, pulled a gun, freaked himself out and took off - and it's not too long before Nathan is shown into Mara's room.

It was a rocky at first, but after getting some blood put back into her and having the bullet dug out of her knee - which is still going to need surgery - Mara's stable enough to see visitors. When Nathan first enters, she isn't awake. She's got an IV in her arm and she looks like death. Her face has been cleaned up, proving the wound to her cheek didn't even require stitches.

This is probably going to be a long night. Nathan slides his hands into his pockets, standing awkwardly around the bottom corner of her bed, before drifting towards where a chair has been helpfully placed nearby. He pulls it nearer and sits down, hands clasped between his knees as he studies her. It's clear to Nathan that she's still under… and that that probably isn't a bad place to be, but despite himself, he says, "Mara?" Then, he sighs, and wearily rubs the bridge of his nose.

The response isn't immediate, but less than a minute after Nathan utters her name, Mara's eyelids flutter and the woman groans quietly. She opens her eyes and blinks blearily. "Nathan? What.. happened? Where am…" She trails off as she starts to remember why she's not where she'd expect to be, or who she'd expect to be /with/. "You stayed."

Looking up at the quiet sound of Mara's voice, Nathan is almost surprised to see her conscious, but hides it well behind a strained smile. "Yeah," he says, in a tone that suggests both sheepishness and mutual surprise. He glances beyond her bed, but when no one official appears to be lingering, he says, "Sort of had to make sure you knew that we got mugged. In case anyone asks."

"The details are so fuzzy," Mara nods knowingly. "I'll have to defer to you. It all happened so fast." That can't be it, can it? The woman smiles wearily and glances up to the bag of fluid painkillers that are slowly dripping into her veins. "Mmm. Painkiller cocktail. Just missing the gin."

"I'm sure you can make up for that when you get outta here," Nathan says lightly, chin coming to rest in his hand, angling his other wrist to glance at the time. "Which might not be for a while. Doctors say that the gunshot to your knee might keep you off your feet for a while." Understatement. Doubtless Mara will be pulled through the gritty details later, but perhaps Nathan wants to get the basic gist out of the way.

Mara manages to roll her eyes. "A while, yeah." She doesn't know what her leg looks like now, or what it looked like before, but she does know what it /felt/ like, and her hopes aren't real high. "I… really appreciate you staying until I woke up."

Nathan shrugs this off. "Waiting around's nothing in comparison to being the rescue party," he points out, with a faint smirk, then shakes his head once. "If you need it, I can stay longer. Not like I got a place to be, at this hour." Not like hospitals are anything new to Nathan.

Not at home? In bed? With your wife, perhaps? Mara doesn't voice any of this, however. His wife's likely still somewhere safe. Somewhere that's nowhere near here or Gabriel Gray. "Yeah… Thanks for the whole… not leaving me to bleed out on the floor thing."

"Don't mention it." If there's a time to feel even abstractly heroic, it's tonight, even if they were clean-up-crew style heroics, but Nathan's attention shifts. "Who was it? The guy that shot you."

"Some thug. I think he works for one of the small-time drug lords." Mara shakes her head. "He's… This isn't the first time he's gotten me," she admits. "These girls at the club told me there was someone unconscious in the room and some big, scary guy with him. I didn't think twice. I decided to-" She stops in mid-sentence and stares at Nathan. "I tried to play hero."

Nathan gives her a small, vaguely sympathetic smile. Even if that sympathy comes with a sort of smugness he can't seem to shake, no matter who he's with. "Well, at least playing hero is sort of part of your job description," he offers, reaching out to sort of pat her arm, but it turns into a light, reassuring squeeze, just above her wrist. "I'll see what I can't do about keeping the police out of here. Even if, you know, you work with 'em."

The squeeze does not go unnoticed. Although Mara tries to play it cool, her eyes still flit down to linger on his hand on her arm. The morphine causes her not to hide the smile creeping up on her until it's far too late. "Gonna pull some strings for me, Mister Petrelli?" Her eyebrows hike up toward her hairline.

Nathan gets points for not drawing his hand away immediately, and raises an eyebrow at her instead. "I'll see what I can do," he says, with a twitch of a smile. "What's being a politician if it doesn't come with perks." Then, he lets go of that arm, hands coming to clasp together once more.

Mara chuckles briefly, before drawing a wince and a hiss. "Ooohhhhh… Next time, I'm just gonna aim for the face. None of that 'intent to arrest' crap." Damaris folds the blanket down to her waist and then feels over her right side gingerly, just under her ribcage, brushing her fingers over the lump of bandages there. "How's my face?" she asks nervously. "I know he caught me there."

"You got a scratch," Nathan says with a slow nod. "But that's it." He cranes his neck a little to observe said scratch for a moment. "Looks like it just grazed you." He raises his eyebrows at her. "Playing with fire there, detective. There's knee reconstruction, but then there's getting shot in the face. Is it just me or do you just attract the bad guys?"

"It's a curse," Mara tries to just make fun of herself. To play it off. But deep down, she's unsettled. "Just tell me that I did the right thing. I know it was stupid, but… I couldn't let the poor bastard just be left in that room, not knowing what might have happened. I might have saved his life… right?"

Nathan frowns, but he doesn't hesitate in his answer. "You did the right thing, Mara," he says. He doesn't know the situation, exactly, but the words come easy and entirely believable. "No one got killed tonight. Looks like a winning outcome to me."

Mara lets out a nervous giggle, accompanied with a pained expression as she glances down the bed. As if she could see her leg underneath the blankets. "Right. Just a little… Did you say reconstruction? Yeah, that won't be so bad."

"I'm not a doctor," Nathan says, with a dismissive shake of his head. "Might not take something like that." Despite himself, an unstoppable smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, full of irony. It probably only makes sense to him, and he manages to smother it. "Besides. It's kind of amazing what these doctors can do, these days."

"You're trying not to smile," Mara observes with a small hint of annoyance. "Why?" So demanding, even though she's supposed to be laid back on painkillers.

"Nothing. Up the morphine, Damaris," is Nathan's professional advice, as he gets to his feet. "I'm gonna go make a few calls. Let people know where I am." Among other requests. "Doubtless the doctors'll come and harass you while I'm out."

"Get back here and tell me why you're smiling when my whole damn career is over," Mara commands. "I'm not seeing much humour in this. That bastard blew out my knee. My /whole/ knee. I'm never going to-" She closes her eyes tightly when she gets choked up. Just don't speak and maybe you won't cry, Damaris.

Well, fuck. Nathan tilts his head back as if to spare her him watching her break just a bit, only to watch her once more. Her eyes are shut, so he takes her hand, a gesture of giving support rather than sympathy. He opts to answer the question he had brushed off. "Because I think I can help you," he says, words coming slowly, reluctantly. "No doctors needed. Just. Sometimes hope isn't what it's cracked up to be. But I can give it a shot."

"I don't have a whole lot of hope left these days, Nathan." That much shouldn't be too surprising. Mara's got real problems. She's in way over her head, and it's really only a matter of time. "I'll take what I can get." She brings one hand up quickly to wipe at the tears that prick at the corners of her eyes. You never saw that. I did not cry. We're not talking about my never being able to walk on my own again.

Nathan releases her hand, stepping back from the bed. Nothing more to say, really - he's almost reluctant to say anything more, as his bedside manner isn't particularly up to scratch. He just looks grim. "Miracles happen, Mara," he says, a little helplessly, in the same kind of tone he adopts whenever he talks about teleporting, flying, visions. "You and I know that better than most." A pause, and he's turning for the door.

Mara aches to believe him. She wants to believe it's possible. And he's right, she of all people /should/ believe it's possible. But as soon as he's out of the room, and the door is closed, the detective begins sobbing.

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