Heero, Relena, and the jobs they've always sacrificed for. Implied 1xR.
Yuy does not stop to think about what his hands are doing, or what they're trying to do, as he does what he has to without really comprehending the situation, even as the panicked and terrified screams around him escalate in volume as more gunshots go off from the far side of the ballroom.
The blood on his hands feels warm and slick, like oil, and he presses his bunched up his dinner jacket against the wound with a little more force. (There's too much blood.) The bullet did not exit, he tells himself in clinical tones. (Fuck.) It may have hit something vital. Internal bleeding? Probable. Status? (Too late.) He glances down at the wan face, eyes distant and assessing. Unconscious, possibly from both shock and blood loss.
The bangs of chestnut hair stick in odd clumps on her forehead, damp from perspiration... Heero raises one bloody hand to- Yuy gives himself a mental shake, retracting his hand in a jerky movement.
Insure the safety of his client first. Get to a secure location. (Not enough.) Neutralizing the threat comes second.
He grabs the nearest person to him-- Jacobs, twenty, American-- and snarls at him to keep pressure on the wound and to get to a secure location outside. If Jacobs so much as lets her bleed more than necessary Heero won't even hesitate in shooting him. Jacobs nods solemnly, eyes giving away some kind of recognition to Yuy's hostility for something else. Yuy doesn't like that look, but he doesn't have the time to wipe it away with a glacial glare.
"I'll cover you," he says coldly, turning away to nod at the nearest exit. It's a fire escape. He wipes away the blood staining his hands on his pants, rising to stand. Yuy unholsters his firearm and moves away with the efficiency of a soldier doing a sweep with an MK47 instead of a Beretta, keeping his gun aimed at the commotion at the far end of the ballroom while heading to the side. Thirty feet, closing. He has them move at a cautious but brisk speed, absently weaving around the tables and kicking away chairs.
Yuy shouts for everyone to hit the ground instead of herding towards the exits. If any stray bullets-- a sudden gunshot has him kneeling on the ground in an instant, Jacobs reacts instantly and drops as well. No one seems to have been hit, but the shrieks are instantaneous but mercifully brief. He signals for Jacobs to follow and moves on at a swifter pace, ignoring the pleading whimpers from beneath the table beside him.
Seconds later, they're through the fire escape doors. Yuy jerks out his useless earpiece-- nothing but static, piece of-- and flips out his cell phone, absently pressing familiar numbers as he nods at Jacobs to move ahead of him, eyes darting as though he expected assassins to pop out of the woodwork. He keeps his Beretta drawn, keeping close to Jacobs. For a moment, Heero's distracted by the limp hand dangling at Jacobs' side.
The moment there's a click of someone picking up, Yuy cuts off the niceties before they're even said. "Why the fuck aren't the earpieces working?"
Static whines for about a millisecond.
"We don't know," It's Yumi Kazuma, automatic and cool-headed as ever. "It seems to have been cut off a minute before the shooting, could be... a lot of things. We thought it was interference, but the fact that you're calling us from your cell pushes that possibility out the window. We have people working on it. What's your position?"
"I'm heading down the east fire escape with Jacobs and Foreign Minister Darlian. Have an ambulance ready once we arrive. We're on the third floor."
"Ambulance, sir?" Yumi sounds surprised, but quickly squashes it from his voice. "What's your status?"
A moment of silence prompts Kazuma to speak again, but in a firmer tone of voice. "Heero? Status."
"Darlian is down," Yuy says emotionlessly. "Second floor. Get an ambulance, Yumi. Yuy out."
He slips his cell back into his pocket.
Heero doesn't think of what he just said, instead he concentrates on keeping their backs covered, gun level and steady, alert for any possible danger-- a few curls of chestnut hair escapes the carefully constructed hairstyle, inexpressive face hidden against Jacobs' arm, but enough to see the curve of brow smudged with drying blood-- focus, Yuy!
First floor, two more flights of stairs until the ground floor, and Heero already feels his mask starting to slip, feeling the slow unravelling of jumbled emotions twisting in his chest, just waiting to tear him apart for letting this shit happen.
As they pass through the fire escape doors, the medical team is there to relieve the bodyguards of the Foreign Minister within seconds. The part of Heero's mind that's still dedicated to control tells him that there's a twenty-six percent chance that she will live without any serious internal damage.