Author's Note: Right, so this ENTIRE THING is a dream that Aurelie's having. A memory through a dream. It's a little bloody, and Aurelie's got a bad mouth. Not terrible, or at least not spewing filth constantly. She's got some pretty pithy stuff occasionally, though.

Another shot screamed through the air, rending earth and flesh and atmosphere as it came apart. The shell came entirely too close to the young soldier prone upon the broken dirt, and the intense young woman kneeling over him. Neither of them noticed, though; the soldier because of the pain from the shrapnel peppering his body in a macabre mockery of a dinner roast, and she because at that moment that wounded young man was the entirety of her scope of focus.

Cursing fiercely under breath, the woman grabbed for the large pack dumped unceremoniously on the ground beside her and began ripping through it, discarding harshly what she did not need; and yet, for all the violence of her movements, she did not throw the supplies away. Finding what she sought, the woman tore the items from the leather and canvas satchel and whirled back to the bleeding soldier, setting her long black curls to swirling about her like a midnight nimbus.

“You…sh…sh…should g…go,” the young man gasped out, looking up at her through one dazed eye. The other was sealed shut with a mix of dirt and congealing blood that trickled down from a gash across his forehead.

“Shut up,” the woman replied with a bite to her tone. Her hands moved feverishly, slapping bandages over his torso and abdomen, applying pressure and gauze where needed.

“’El…” the young man began. A spasm of pain stopped his words, choking them off into pained coughing that sounded far too wet for her peace of mind.

“I told you,” she said waspishly, “to shut the fuck up. Now don’t open your mouth again; I’ve only put a temp on you until I can get you back to camp.”

“’Elie…”

“Shut. The fuck. Up.” The words were growled at him, followed by a sharp glare from eyes the same angry gray as thunderclouds streaked by the blue of lightning flashes. “Sergeant,” she added as an afterthought. “I am not leaving you here. Now hold on.” And with that, she levered him into an upright position – gently, though, oh so gently! – and lifted him to a position where she could easily hold him against her as she stood. The pack had already been placed on her back during their brief (and largely one-sided) ‘argument’, and she let out a deep breath before moving as fast as she could with her cargo across the shattered and broken field.

“’Elie,” the soldier in her arms moaned. Because of the extent of his wounds, there was no way to hold him without touching some kind of wound, no matter how careful that touch was. Most likely, though, he was about to try to be ‘noble’ again and tell her to leave him here.

She snorted. To hell with that idea, and to hell with nobility while she was at it!

“Don’t even start, Robert,” she snarled, navigating around a particularly nasty crater, her heart pounding from adrenaline, fatigue, and a hyper-aware survival instinct. After all, she was functioning for two, now. And apparently the blonde soldier carried across her shoulders took the hint, because he remained silent. Or he was unconscious.

Either way worked for her, really. At least he was still and quiet, and that made navigating the screaming, throbbing madness of the battlefield easier. She knew Robert was still alive; the sergeant’s heart was thumping in a reassuringly solid way against her own, the two falling into close beats.

“Don’t even think about dying on me, Robby Boy,” the raven-haired medic panted, even though the person she was talking to probably couldn’t hear her.

Or maybe he could.

“Doctor’s…orders, huh?” came the weak rejoinder with a pathetic attempt at a chuckle and verbal leer. It failed quite miserably, but she smiled anyways.

“Damn straight,” she replied, in a gasp that even so communicated her grin. Avoiding both hostile fire and stray friendly bullets and climbing over broken terrain and other bodies with her medpack and Robert was proving to be a serious workout even with her training and practice regimen.

Maybe I should suggest it to the Training Master, she thought with a wry mental laugh, thinking absently how much the trainees in boot camp would hate her – or the training Master, really. Anyways, it seemed she’d have to step it up a level. But first she had to survive getting Robert back to camp for treatment. Thank God she’d just caught sight of the first markers. Only one more mile to go…

~~~~~~

“’Elie, wake up.”