The Prior
Chapter 9: Elliot’s 1820

POV: Elliot Foster

I always thought that getting shot wouldn’t hurt. That I’d still be able to function. That adrenaline would take over, numb the pain, let me keep going. I had always been told that too. At Quantico, they told us that we would have no idea at first. That it wouldn’t hurt. Spoiler alert: it does.

The water rushes over me. Buries my head. I hope Cassidy is safe. I hope Belle is safe. Hell, even Max too. I let the water take me down. There’s no point in fighting. They say it hurts less if you just let the water take you. Isn’t drowning a better death than bleeding out? I’d think so. I’ll just accept it. Hope my corpse washes up onto a nice beach. Let nature take me. We’ve always been meant to be with the Earth. What a better way than to let the ocean take you? To sink down below. To wash up in paradise. Paradise that hasn’t been destroyed by industry yet. My body just falls under, so peacefully. The waves move me.

Perhaps this is what I deserve for the lies and deceit. No more lying to Belle or Max. And, no more lying to Cassidy. I’ve been longing to tell her the truth, but I know that I can’t. I lose her trust if I tell her. This is good. Cassidy will never know. Ever. The waves wash away my guilt. Cleansing me of my falsities.

I feel something hook onto my chest. I get smacked in the shin by what feels like a foot. Cassidy. She’s trying to save me. Right after I accepted things. How ridiculous.

She pulls me onto the rocks, shaking me violently, repeating my name. I cough up some water. The imaginations of floating in the deep ocean and washing up in paradise get taken from my mind. I’m conscious on the cobblestone streets of an 1820s town, with a woman sobbing and shaking me. I can still feel the pain of the wound. I wince in it.

“Oh my god! You’re alive!” she says. I breathe heavily. Specifically, my collarbone hurts. I look down at it and she’s got her fingers stuffed into the wound.

“Don’t...don’t worry about me. Save yourself,” I tell her, coughing up a mouthful of saltwater. She just shakes her head. This is dangerous. She needs to go. I’ll be fine. I can hang on for the night here and when we move she can fix me. Or life will take over. I’m not afraid to die. People who are afraid to die don’t join the FBI. And they don’t distract men with guns.

“Can you rip a piece of my dress off? Or take off one of your socks?” she asks, not listening to my pleas.

“Cass, the guard is going to come back and kill us. Go. Save yourself. They need you,” I reassure her.

“They need you! Hell, Elliot, I need you. I cannot do this without you. So just shut up and stop moving so I can save you!” she exasperates. I don’t have the energy to fight her. I don’t have the energy to do much at all. Just close my eyes.

“Okay? Now rip off a piece of my dress,” she instructs. I can’t do that. I can’t even open my eyes. “Elliot. Please.”

Her cries trigger something that lets me move my arm on the uninjured side. Her face looms over mine. I think I can feel her dress. I grab at it and manage to pull part of it off.

She stuffs it into my shoulder.

“We need to get out of here. I’ll clean it and remove the bullet elsewhere,” she says.

She helps me up off the rocks. I’m still struggling to breathe. And I’m cold. And I’m wet. My mind goes off the throbbing shoulder when I consider the chafing happening everywhere else. Every step I force myself to focus on the chafing. Chafing is significantly better than a gunshot, right? I think she dragged me half of the way, but we finally get to an empty alley.

“I’m going to replace some alcohol to clean the wound. Stay here,” she says to me. Her voice is stern. She’s calm, which is strange. Especially for a diplomat. She said she was a diplomat, right? Black dots begin to clog my vision, prompting me to just close my eyes. Eventually, she comes back bearing a bottle of whiskey. I have no idea where it came from. I watch her fix me. She’s careful and focused. I should order a medical supply basket. But, I have to be careful. Cassidy can’t see the recorder. She can’t know that I have this power. I try to think of an unobvious way to reach into my pocket and click the button.

“Be prepared to scream,” she says before jamming her fingers into the wound and removing the bullet. I clench my jaw rather than screaming, which caused me to breathe out like I had just drank hot coffee or something. I use my flinch to use my good arm and reach into my pocket. My fingers fumble for the recorder. I feel it. Which button was first aid kit again? The last one, I think. I feel for it and press it down hard. Cassidy fumbles with my fabric on her dress, as the basket makes its way down from the sky.

“Cassidy,” I wince, “Look up. It’s how my water appeared. Look.”

She stands up and nabs the basket. I hear her ruffling through it. A catch of glimpse of her fingers ripping open a white packet. Her hands are covered in my blood. It stains the wrapping. It’s gauze. She presses it to my wound, which makes me groan in pain even louder. She applies something to the wound, it burns a little. Glue? Neosporin? I can’t exactly feel it anymore. Maybe this is what they mean. The adrenaline taking over. I really can’t feel anything. She wipes her hair out of her face, leaving a smear of red blood on her cheek.

Her eyes still glisten in the dim moonlight. I think she’s done. She touches my face, her hands still sticky from all the blood.

“How are you feeling?” The warmth in her voice is soothing. Her eyes scan me, looking to make sure I’m alright.

“I’m okay,” I whisper. Her face gets close to mine. She just seems to be analyzing my eyes.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she whispers back. Our noses almost touch. Something rushes through my body. Relief? Adrenaline? Testosterone? Whatever it is, it’s making me bold.

“Kiss me,” I whisper. She smiles a little and tilts her head. Her lips press onto mine. Soft at first, but the intensity grows. If only I could move. I’d love to just pull her in closer. The kiss is not like anything I’ve felt before. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. Maybe it’s adrenaline from the incident. Maybe not. My veins throb and throb. With every second, my stomach flutters a bit more. She pulls away. I think I could’ve kissed her forever.

“We shouldn’t...” I mutter. Her eyes dart back and forth.

“You’re right. We really shouldn’t,” she agrees. She touches my hand and changes the subject, “C’mon let’s replace somewhere to sleep. I don’t think we’ll catch up with Max and Belle until the jump. And I don’t want to sleep in this alley,” she says. She helps me up. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but enjoy being near her. God, this is breaking so many rules.

We eventually get to an open spot in the woods and try to sleep. It’s freezing out, but Cass and I awkwardly sleep 3 feet away from each other. I think we’re both too proud to scoot closer. My pride didn’t last more than 10 minutes.

“I’m freezing. And still a bit wet,” I tell her.

“Me too. This is not enjoyable,” she grumbles, also giving in.

“C’mere,” I say. She scoots closer to me. She’s ice cold, but says the same about me. I lay on my back so she wraps her arms around my chest and hikes up her leg on my torso. I remember her sleeping like that the last time we shared a bed. I hope she’s enjoying me as her pillow. I’m sure enjoying having her as my blanket.

I put my healthy arm around her back. She looks up at me and smiles.

“How are you feeling? Any pain?” she asks.

“My toes feel like they’re going to fall off more than anything. The cold weather is a nice distraction. You did good today,” I tell her.

“It was nothing,” she says.

“You saved my life.”

“And? You would’ve done the same. Don’t pretend like it was some big feat,” she plays off.

“I’m still appreciative,” I tell her. She sighs and continues to look up at me.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this? All the way? Alive?” she says after a moment. I don’t answer. Because I don’t think we will. It’s only the what, 3rd or 4th mission? And I’ve already gotten shot? There’s no way. “I hope so” is my answer. She rests her head back on my chest and closes her eyes.

She smells like seawater and blood, but underneath I can still smell the sweet vanilla perfume she used. I’m not really sure if it’s actually present or if I’m just reminiscing of the first time we slept like this. Back when there was a warm bed and dry clothes and good smells. None of us smell pleasant, but Belle reeks like armpit. The poor girl. At least we all got a bath in the ocean.

In the morning, I wake up to see Cassidy sitting against a tree.

“Hey,” she whispers, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. Still cold,” I add.

“I need to change your bandage,” she says. I watch her get up from the tree and tear off another piece of her underskirt. She helps me sit up against a tree, so I’m in a better position for her help. Cassidy’s gentle. Her soft hands slip off my jacket and unbutton my shirt. She’s careful, removing the bandage and re-wrapping it. I can’t help but catch her wandering eyes as she buttons my shirt back up. Not sure what she’s looking at. My scar? My ugly body? No clue. She helps put my jacket back on.

“When do you think we’ll jump years?” I ask.

“Don’t know. I can’t wait. It’s freezing,” she says.

“I’m cold too. Body heat. C’mere,” I tell her. I have her face the same direction I am and lean against me. She sits between my sprawled legs. I wrap my arms around her body. She’s cautious not to lean against my wounded shoulder. This feels intimate. We hold each other tight.

“I remember what happened that night. Not a lot, but some of it came back to me,” she whispers.

“I still don’t remember anything,” I mutter back. I hope nothing bad happened. I mean, we had sex, but like nothing worse. What is worse?

“You’re a good guy, Elliot,” she says, “that’s what I remember.”