Chapter Text
“Damn Marines,” Coyote cursed to herself, hopping off her dinky little sailboat onto the damp shore she had just docked at. She clutched her bleeding abdomen as she looked back and began limping to the heart of the island, her feet dragging through the darkened sand. As far as she could see—which wasn’t very far with all the fog—the Marines had given up their chase. “Ya’d think they’d’ve forgiven me by this point. It’s been eight years, for cryin’ out loud."
After trudging her way through half of the hazy island, Coyote finally found something other than trees; before her stood an old castle, which towered over her and made her feel smaller than she cared for. The front door alone dwarfed any tree in the forest, and the cracked limestone walls seemed to never find an end as she looked up. Moss only managed to climb so high up until the fog made it too bleary to see. It looked old and dirty enough to be abandoned, coupled with the eerie silence of the island, but whether someone was waiting on the other side of those gigantic walls didn’t matter to her right now. She just needed a place to rest. Pushing open the front door took up more energy than Coyote could spare. At least it was unlocked—picking a lock was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now.
“Dang,” she huffed out, leaning her shoulder onto the nearest wall. Sliding down, she sat with her back up against it, the cold stone relaxing the burning pain from the bullet that lodged itself into her muscles. As nice as that was, the adrenaline was wearing off, and the blood loss was beginning to get to her. A shiver ran down her spine, the cool support beginning to only serve to make her feel colder.
“Shot above the hip,” she muttered to herself, evaluating her wounds to decide which to tend first. She took a deep breath, the stench of must and pine overwhelming her thoughts. At this point she couldn’t tell if she was talking to herself to actually map out her injuries, or to stay awake. “Shot to the thigh, feels like a cut on my chest… I’ll start with the one on my hip.”
Move. She couldn’t move. Hard as she tried, the woman couldn’t lift a finger. She stared ahead of her, the realization beginning to hit her.
“Is this really how I die?”
Her eyes were focusing and unfocusing almost rhythmically, her eyelids feeling like they carried the weight of the world as she fought to keep them open.
“I guess it doesn’t matter, does it?”
She tried looking down at her wounds to see the extent of the damage, but even her eyes were too weak to move.
“There’s no one left that would care if I were to survive.”
Breathing was becoming a struggle; she chased her next breaths like a game of cat and mouse, a tangy iron taste making itself aware on her tongue.
“No family left to grieve, no friends to notice my absence. I don’t even know where I am.”
Her heart raced in her chest, trying to compensate for the lack of blood flowing through her system.
“So… None of that suffering was even worth it in the end?”
The lightheadedness spoke for itself. Blood was hardly making it to her brain by this point. She would certainly pass out soon.
“What was I fighting for? A better life? I don’t want it to flash before my eyes. I don’t want to relive all of that.”
Her head slumped down, forcing her to stare at her bloodied hands. Red was all that filled her vision; her own blood, the blood of the pirates she had caught and sent to Impel Down for a fate worse than death, the blood of poor families that she robbed of all their riches. She had let go of her wound, her muscles gone slack and imobile. The pressure her hand was providing wouldn’t stop her bleeding, anyway. Her guilt wouldn’t feed those starving families, either. Laying there, on the brink of consciousness, Coyote realized the weight of her regret. She left the Marines to live a happier life, and yet she’s bleeding out here, alone, with nobody to think about before she inevitably dies. Mako surely hated her for abandoning him, and Bug was dead with Coyote’s brother and the rest of Flevance. She couldn’t save them; maybe if she had stayed, if she had rejected their mother’s wishes, she could have done something. Maybe her niece would still be alive.
Tap, tap, tap…
The sound of footsteps caught Coyote’s attention. As much as she wanted to see who it was, her eyes couldn’t fight for much longer. Just as they shut, she heard their voice.
“Do not die.”
. . . . . . . . .
The castle’s high stone ceiling made its way into view as Coyote opened her bleary eyes.
“I’m alive,” she thought, “great.”
Looking around, Coyote got to take in her surroundings. A breeze drafted in from the open window to her left and to her right was a small nightstand, with a lamp, a glass of water, and a few painkillers sitting on it. She definitely wasn’t freezing like she was before, but ‘warm’ certainly wouldn’t be the word she would use to describe her hands at the moment—the only thing keeping her from shivering was the warm blanket that covered her. Sitting next to her bedside was a man reading a book, a glass of red wine in his hand. His hair was slicked back, and he wore a gold cross around his neck, fully on display with his low-buttoned shirt. As she stirred awake, his eyes darted over to her, Coyote had to take a moment to appreciate them. Damn his eyes were gorgeous. His irises were nothing short of a rarity; the colour of gold that only the highest of nobles could be able to purchase, with two obsidian-black rings that encased that precious yellow. He stared at her with a piercing gaze, leading her to feel almost self-conscious for the first time since she was a Marine.
“You’re the one who saved me, I take it?” Coyote questioned, raising an eyebrow as she sat up, the top of the blanket falling into her lap and realizing why it made her feel so warm. She was no stranger to being shirtless, but she hadn’t been tended to medically by anyone but herself since she was a child.
The man responded, his voice confident and smooth, “that would be correct.”