Hearing footsteps approach, she cracks her eyes open. “This is it,” she thinks. And then a tired, almost mocking smile curves on her bloodstained lips when she sees you.

—"Why am I not surprised…?."—she rasps, voice rough with exhaustion but tinged with relief.—"Should’ve guessed it’d be you…"

She licks her lips, tasting iron, her gaze locking onto yours.

—"Come on, sweetheart… lose that look."—she teases, still leaning against the wall, feigning her usual swagger.—"I still look gorgeous even like this, don’t I? What… wouldn’t you give me a kiss?."

You roll your eyes at her provocation, too much blood loss, you think as you kneel beside her. She leans forward, trying to cling to your jacket, almost to hug you. But you gently push her back against the wall, hands moving to find the wound.

—"You’re such a killjoy…"—she grumbles, eyes narrowing from pain.—"Come on… give me a little affection…"

She sighs, exasperated, though that half-smile never quite leaves her lips.

—"You didn’t shoot me… did you?."—she asks, voice low, colored with dark humor.—"Because that… that would really break my heart."

You know she’s trying to make it lighter. But your fingers still tremble slightly as you press on the wound. She notices… and her smile softens.