"Please, sir, you have to help me," you begged, still on your knees. You sincerely doubted you would get much help, since you almost hit his groin.

The man looked down at you, lowering one hand and rubbing the back of his neck with the other. "There's... no need to bow..." he said. You cringed at yourself. You looked pitiful, but sort of silly.

"I--" As you started to get up, a bullet tore past you as the sound of gunshots rang in your ear. You yelped and ducked again. He reached for you, but flinched as you let out another scream. A bullet had found its way into your calf. The man quickly pulled you to your feet. You dragged your baseball bat off the ground with you and the man pulled a pistol out, ushering you to safety.

He looked really tense, and anxious. It made you feel sort of guilty. There was nothing you hated more than dragging others into your problems, but right now you were scared for your life. No matter how hard you tried, keeping calm was impossible. You grit your teeth as hard as you could, trying to cope with the pain.

You saw him lean against the wall and crouch, looking around the corner. He stepped around and fired a few times before shouting over the gunfire, "What's your name!"

You could barely process the question. Your name. "It's--"
You stopped suddenly. Did this man trust ShinRa? Would he trust you if he knew who you were. You decided to think of another one.

"You all right?" he hollered over your thoughts as he took cover behind the brick wall. You came back to your senses.

"It's [F/N]!" You replied on impulse. '[F/N]'? What kind of name was that? Where did it come from? Maybe it was the name of an employee. Or your dog's name. Whatever it was, you didn't care. And neither did he. As you rested, you felt something pushing you forward. You stumbled and looked over your shoulder. It was a citizen, opening their back door.

"What on Earth is going on here?"

It wasn't until then you realized a bunch of lights were being switched on and civilians were coming out to investigate. You felt your throat burning. Your eyes stung. You wanted to cry.
"Are you [Y/N]--?"

You went to shout 'no', but your savior grabbed your wrist and broke into a sprint. "We've gotta go." All you could do at this point was oblige. Even though your leg hurt, you were willing to limp the whole time. For whatever reason, the gross feeling of the blood gushing and trickling down your calf was what concerned you more. But you would deal with anything, as long as you escaped.

Troops kept shouting behind you, ordering you to stop. They kept firing. You knew they'd go for your friend, since he wasn't of any current importance.

"Run in front of me!" you ordered.

"What? Why? You're--"

"Just do it!" While he still had a grip on your wrist, you pulled him directly in front of you. This was your problem. You couldn't let a random passerby die.

"Damn it!" A troop bellowed. Suddenly, his walkie talkie channeled in on his belt. He picked it up and listened, to hear Tseng's voice.

"Leave her," he instructed. "You're drawing too much attention. President's orders."

The officer sighed. "Yes, Sir. We'll return to headquartered immediately."

"Good." Then the device channeled out.

•
•
•

You ran with the stranger for a while. You came back to your senses, wondering why you had automatically trusted him with your life. You didn't realize the troops withdrew for another fifteen minutes. Your legs finally gave out and you fell on the sidewalk. He stopped and turned around.

"What's going on...? [F/N], was it...?" he asked, kneeling beside you. You stayed there, panting and coughing. There was hardly any explaining this. With ShinRa's security, you should have never made it out.

"I... I'm a... Fugitive." You told him. It wasn't exactly a lie anymore, you didn't think.

"What...?"

"I disputed sensitive information about the company... I used to work there..." you tried to finish before falling into another fit of coughs. Mucus was building up in your throat. You spit it out onto the ground. It wasn't the most attractive thing, but at this point, you didn't care.

He stayed quiet for a while as you caught your breath. "Come with me..." Standing back up, he held his hand out to you. You nervously grabbed his hand and went to hoist yourself up, but ended up crying out as a sharp pain shot through your leg and you fell back down. He caught you before you hit the ground, though the tears finally started coming. You held onto him, trying to not be too much of a nuisance by crying like a baby.

He pulled you back up with your arm around his shoulder. "My home's a ways away. Hang in there, [F/N]," he reassured you. "We'll get you patched up." All you could do was nod and breathe. You held onto the arm that was helping keep you up. You still were unsure as to why you trusted this man right away, but safety was all you cared about.

You walked in silence for a while. You kept glancing at him. His brown eyes were fixated on the path that led to his home. You still felt guilty for the nervous look on his face, that stayed there the whole time. He had very little facial hair and looked to be in his early twenties. His skin was a lot tanner than yours. You thought he probably spent lots of time being active. After all, he was slightly "built". His shirt was almost skin tight and you could see his abs through it. Sweat was pouring down his forehead.

Almost an hour later, you had made it to the slums. You weren't sure what sector, but you didn't care. It was quiet, other than a few people hanging out by small fires or under porch lights. Your friend guided you over to a house that was slightly bigger than all the other ones. He opened the door and helped you inside, immediately sitting you down on a stool. A few oil lamps were lit on the walls.

"I'll get some supplies..." he whispered. He put his finger up to his lips, signaling you to stay quiet. You assumed there were other people in the house who were sleeping. He left the room and came back with a first-aid kid. You were partially ashamed. The feeling that you had possibly crashed someone's peaceful life ate away at you, more so than the pain in your calf.

Sitting at your feet, your friend set a lantern beside the stool for better light. "I'm Biggs, by the way. I realized I haven't told you my name yet," he said quietly as he situated himself.

"Biggs..." you repeated. "Is that a fake name?"

Biggs gave a simple nod and looked up at you. "Yours?" You wanted to tell him the truth, but on impulse, you shook your head 'no'. "It's a pretty name."

"... Thank you."

"You're welcome." He had the kit open now. Sighing a little, he said, "This is going to hurt. A lot." You looked away from him, already wanting to chicken out. He was feeling around your calf, studying how he was gonna get this bullet out. "I'm gonna need you to stand up..."

"What?"

"Please," he said. "And turn around." He sounded hesitant to ask this of you.

"What is it? Is something wrong?"

"I just need a better angle. I can't get it out of your calf if I'm looking at your shin. You can lean against the wall if you need to." He knew it sounded like a suspicious request, but you could tell with other people here, he wouldn't try anything.

You carefully stood up, not putting any pressure on your leg. You used the stool to help you turn around, and rested on the wall just as he suggested.

"I'm... Really sorry about this. It might hurt me more than it hurts you."

Yeah, right.

"Oh, and please... Try not to scream. The kids are sleeping."

"The wh-- Nngh!! Oh..!! Shit!" You could feel some kind of tool in the back of your calf. The metal was cold on your skin and you could feel it pulling at the bullet. "What the fuck is that...? Are you using tweezers!?" You were sort of yelling, but at a whisper.

"No," Biggs replied. "Pliers."

"PLI--"

"Shh!" he warned. You groaned and dug your teeth into your hand. You cursed occasionally as he worked his magic. You were panting now, and he flinched every time your jerked from the pain.

You wanted to throw up, both from the pain and from the sound and feeling of your blood gushing onto the floor.

"There...!" Biggs finally declared, dropping the pliers and putting his hands up. He stood up and paced for a second, running his unbloodied hand through his locks. The bullet skidded across the floor with multiple 'tinks'.

You sank to the floor, rubbing your throbbing leg. You looked at Biggs with a cold glare, holding up the pliers. "I... hate you." Though, both of you knew you were just upset and in pain.

"We're not done yet," he said. He was shaking. Like he had just committed murder.

You just sighed, trying to stay rational. "Right, right. Let's get this over with."

You were able to stay quiet the majority of the time it took to clean and stitch your wound. You were standing up again, against the wall as he wrapped it up.

"Finished..." he breathed. You nodded and sat back on the stool.

"Tell me something..." you said as he started cleaning up. "A couple of things, actually."

"Shoot," he said.

"Why did you help me?"

"I... Like helping people I suppose. I didn't know what your deal was, but I don't want people falling victim to how unjust ShinRa is..." Those words made you smile to yourself. Someone was on your side. For the first time. "Who knows what would have happened to you..." You scowled and shuddered at the thought.
Biggs closed the first-aid kit and looked up at you. "And the other thing?"

"Why did you bring another woman into your house if you have kids?"
Biggs suddenly went quiet and gave you the craziest expression you think you've ever seen. He finally looked away. You got up, genuinely concerned. He wouldn't look at you.

"Biggs? Is there something you're hiding from me?"

".... No." He said. His voice was shaky from what you could hear. You circled around him to finally see his face. He had a dumb smile plastered there. He was laughing, and trying to hide it.

"What's so funny?" His laughter began to surface. He started laughing aloud, into his hand, still trying to be quiet. He couldn't speak at this point, and you stood stone faced as he clutched his sides and bursted out laughing.

"I..." he gasped, mid sentence. "I don't... have kids!" He wheezed, "Or a woman! I'm only twenty-three!"

"Then who are the kids you mentioned?" Of course, it took him forever to answer.

"This is an orphanage, [F/N]." He managed to muster two serious sentences. "I teach the children here."

You stood with your arms crossed (I'm imagining a Sully Wazowski face), watching him continue laughing his ass off. "It's really not that funny." You were embarrassed, but didn't show it.

"It is!"

It took a while, but Biggs finally calmed down and you were still unamused. You were both quiet as you helped clean up the blood on the floor and put the first-aid stuff away.

Finally, Biggs said the words you were hoping for. Or at least something along those lines: "Let's get some shut-eye. I'll show you where you can sleep for now."

You nodded. He beckoned you over to the stairs and starting walking up. You stayed at the bottom though. He looked back down at you. "Oh, right." He rushed back down. "I'll help you."

You grabbed both railings and hoisted yourself up. Biggs treaded lightly behind you, keeping his hands ready in any case you should fall. You did stumble a couple times, and his hands were there at your waist to keep you steady. He stayed two steps behind you. You could tell he wasn't trying to come off as creepy.

Once you reached the top, he led you to a small room full of beds. Lots of them were occupied by children. This sort of embarrassed you even more. If you knew how many there were, you might not have made the suggestion that he was a twenty-three-year-old husband and father.

Biggs guided you over to a made bed. "I don't sleep here, but I'll be back in the morning. If the kids are up before you, don't freak out."

All you could do was nod. You said down as he began to walk out.

"Thank you, Biggs," you said out of the blue. He stopped and turned around. You couldn't see his face very well, but you could see him smiling a little.

"You're welcome, [F/N]," he replied. "Sleep well."

You knew you wouldn't sleep well at all, but you just gave a small 'mhm'. You knew he was a worrier, so you weren't being completely honest.

And with that, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

~~~~~
Word Count:
2283

Goal exceeded by:
783