I suppose it's also possible to do this prompt in a figurative way, but, well ... I'm me. XD
--
Peggy is not quite certain, afterwards, how a fairly routine search for smuggled items on the docks turned into a free-for-all with a handful of burly smugglers. Fortunately both she and Daniel have the element of surprise on their side -- their opponents seem quite taken aback when Peggy kicks one of them in the groin while Daniel clotheslines another with his crutch. And Jack's adeptness at punching people is, for a change, proving useful.
She is beating a second burly gentleman into submission with a length of knotted rope when she sees, out of the corner of her eye, one of them swinging a wicked-looking iron rod with a hook at the end, straight at Daniel's head. Neither she nor Jack are close enough to do anything, and have their own problems besides. Still, she manages to shout his name, and he starts to turn, to dodge. Daniel has always been much faster than he looks.
But not fast enough. He manages to avoid being thoroughly brained as his opponent intended, but the length of iron glances off his head with a solid crack she can hear even from the other side of the dock.
"Daniel!" she screams again, as he goes suddenly, horribly limp, and slithers over the edge into the water.
Jack, whatever his other faults, is at least quick on the uptake. He delivers a solid uppercut to his opponent's jaw and then goes over the side after Daniel.
Unfortunately, so does the thug who'd managed to hit Daniel, and he's still got that bar of iron in his meaty fist.
Peggy finally manages to lay hers out with a good crack to the back of the skull. She scans quickly around to make sure no one looks like they'll be getting up anytime soon. Not a problem, she's fairly sure. Then she runs to the edge.
There's no sign of any of them. Just roiling dark water, glistening with the dock lights.
Her first urge is to jump in after them, followed by her calmer, more sensible self telling her that it would be more useful to have someone on the dock who can, say, throw in a rope or something.
But they are not ...
... not coming up.
Not both of them, she thinks. Not at once, not like this.
She can't simply stand here --
But even as she kicks off her shoes (because diving in without shoes is foolish and she needs every advantage she can have), a sleek water-dark head surfaces, and she throws herself full-length on the dock. She reaches down and Jack hands Daniel's limp body up to her. Jack is gasping and coughing himself, but she hasn't the hands to help, not until she's hauled Daniel up to the dock and then she can reach down and grip Jack's hand firmly, pulling him up after.
Jack half-sprawls on the wet dock planks, coughing. But Daniel -- Daniel is limp, unresponsive her attempts to smack his face, to rearrange his limbs, to make him react.
Jack struggles to his knees, wheezing and leaning heavily on his left hand, the right arm dangling limp. He shoulders Peggy out of the way. She slides back, because it seems like he knows what he is doing, and she does not know what to do.
Daniel's head lolls limply on the dock, his face slack. His hair drips water onto the dock planks when Jack repositions it with firm, efficient motions.
"What are you doing?" Peggy wants to know.
"Kiss of life," he tells her, hoarsely.
He was in the Navy. He knows how to deal with drowned men. He closes his lips over Daniel's slack ones, breathes for him. Again. Again.
Peggy can't not help, can't stand by and do nothing. One of her hands curls around Daniel's slack one; the other presses against Jack's wet back. She can feel the rise and fall of his ribs as he forces air into Daniel's lungs.
Daniel's hand, under hers, spasms suddenly. "Jack," she gasps, and she's not sure when she stopped breathing, but surely her lungs are as empty of air as either of theirs.
Daniel's spine arches. Jack rolls him onto his side and he coughs helplessly. Jack's head hangs; he's gasping for air himself, and she can feel the rise and fall of his ribcage under her palm.
"Jack," she says. He turns to look at her, dazed. She lunges forward and kisses him, aiming for his cheek but missing to hit just beneath his eye instead. "Jack," she says again, and presses her face against his, because Daniel's breathing is slow and steady now, his side pressed against her, and Jack raises a shaking arm to wrap around her -- and she can stay here forever, in the adrenaline crash, with both of them close and safe and hers.
no subject
--
Peggy is not quite certain, afterwards, how a fairly routine search for smuggled items on the docks turned into a free-for-all with a handful of burly smugglers. Fortunately both she and Daniel have the element of surprise on their side -- their opponents seem quite taken aback when Peggy kicks one of them in the groin while Daniel clotheslines another with his crutch. And Jack's adeptness at punching people is, for a change, proving useful.
She is beating a second burly gentleman into submission with a length of knotted rope when she sees, out of the corner of her eye, one of them swinging a wicked-looking iron rod with a hook at the end, straight at Daniel's head. Neither she nor Jack are close enough to do anything, and have their own problems besides. Still, she manages to shout his name, and he starts to turn, to dodge. Daniel has always been much faster than he looks.
But not fast enough. He manages to avoid being thoroughly brained as his opponent intended, but the length of iron glances off his head with a solid crack she can hear even from the other side of the dock.
"Daniel!" she screams again, as he goes suddenly, horribly limp, and slithers over the edge into the water.
Jack, whatever his other faults, is at least quick on the uptake. He delivers a solid uppercut to his opponent's jaw and then goes over the side after Daniel.
Unfortunately, so does the thug who'd managed to hit Daniel, and he's still got that bar of iron in his meaty fist.
Peggy finally manages to lay hers out with a good crack to the back of the skull. She scans quickly around to make sure no one looks like they'll be getting up anytime soon. Not a problem, she's fairly sure. Then she runs to the edge.
There's no sign of any of them. Just roiling dark water, glistening with the dock lights.
Her first urge is to jump in after them, followed by her calmer, more sensible self telling her that it would be more useful to have someone on the dock who can, say, throw in a rope or something.
But they are not ...
... not coming up.
Not both of them, she thinks. Not at once, not like this.
She can't simply stand here --
But even as she kicks off her shoes (because diving in without shoes is foolish and she needs every advantage she can have), a sleek water-dark head surfaces, and she throws herself full-length on the dock. She reaches down and Jack hands Daniel's limp body up to her. Jack is gasping and coughing himself, but she hasn't the hands to help, not until she's hauled Daniel up to the dock and then she can reach down and grip Jack's hand firmly, pulling him up after.
Jack half-sprawls on the wet dock planks, coughing. But Daniel -- Daniel is limp, unresponsive her attempts to smack his face, to rearrange his limbs, to make him react.
Jack struggles to his knees, wheezing and leaning heavily on his left hand, the right arm dangling limp. He shoulders Peggy out of the way. She slides back, because it seems like he knows what he is doing, and she does not know what to do.
Daniel's head lolls limply on the dock, his face slack. His hair drips water onto the dock planks when Jack repositions it with firm, efficient motions.
"What are you doing?" Peggy wants to know.
"Kiss of life," he tells her, hoarsely.
He was in the Navy. He knows how to deal with drowned men. He closes his lips over Daniel's slack ones, breathes for him. Again. Again.
Peggy can't not help, can't stand by and do nothing. One of her hands curls around Daniel's slack one; the other presses against Jack's wet back. She can feel the rise and fall of his ribs as he forces air into Daniel's lungs.
Daniel's hand, under hers, spasms suddenly. "Jack," she gasps, and she's not sure when she stopped breathing, but surely her lungs are as empty of air as either of theirs.
Daniel's spine arches. Jack rolls him onto his side and he coughs helplessly. Jack's head hangs; he's gasping for air himself, and she can feel the rise and fall of his ribcage under her palm.
"Jack," she says. He turns to look at her, dazed. She lunges forward and kisses him, aiming for his cheek but missing to hit just beneath his eye instead. "Jack," she says again, and presses her face against his, because Daniel's breathing is slow and steady now, his side pressed against her, and Jack raises a shaking arm to wrap around her -- and she can stay here forever, in the adrenaline crash, with both of them close and safe and hers.