Work Text:
Yang Moli paced up and down in her private rooms. Normally, she'd be at the club, singing her heart out to a delighted audience. The men that surrounded her had no idea that when she sang, she sang to one particular person.
That person was in the hospital, and Moli had no idea whether or not Didi would wake up.
If she closed her eyes, she could remember the whole raid, moment by heartbreaking moment. She shouldn't have been there, or at least she should have stayed behind. But she'd come, and she'd been betrayed, and now Didi was paying the price.
She'd seen Didi's wounds, before Didi had been taken to the hospital. Mentally catalogued them. Damage to the back. Possibly internal bleeding. Organ damage. Who knew how much shrapnel Didi had taken, and how much it had pained the woman she loved to have it removed.
At least the hospital had turned Didi on her side so she wasn't resting on her injured back, and she no longer smelled of smoke. Moli had checked the bandages almost clinically; the nurses had done a good job, bandaging Didi's wounds. Her friend had been stripped of her uniform jacket, her vest in tatters and her shirt almost so. To preserve her diginity, her torn clothes had been left on. An IV was attached to her arm, dripping fluids into Didi's body.
Didi had seemed to be resting peacefully. She'd probably been drugged so that she wouldn't feel so much pain. The drugs they had weren't at the level of Western ones, but they would help a little.
A little was better than nothing, and Didi deserved the best medicine she could get. Ji Wenxuan had used his connections to look for a Western doctor, bring them to Didi's hospital room, try to save her life.
Just like Didi had saved her life. She had no doubt that Didi would have saved anyone; that was how Didi was. Didi was dedicated to her role as a police officer, and while she sometimes lost that thread of saving people to her desire to prove herself, she would step in and protect the helpess, no matter who they were.
It made Moli want to scream. But she couldn't. She was a professional. And nobody knew about their relationship.
She reminded herself that Didi was tough. That she was trained to fight. She had an incredibly high pain tolerance, that Moli knew from having to stitch her up once or twice. Moli had reminded her that she needed to take care of herself to take care of other people, and Didi had given her a smile, but not promised anything.
"Didi," she said finally. "You damned well better stay alive." Didi had to. Because people needed her. Their little detective group needed her. Moli needed her, most of all.
If Didi survived, Moli would take care of her. Remind her not to throw away her own life in service of another. Because if Didi never recovered, Moli wasn't sure she could ever sing again.