He felt the familiar sting, the pain that accompanied a bullet piercing his body. Before the next shot could be fired, the man was dead and Pietro was looking back at Summer, “I told you not to follow,” he said as the blood started to fall down his body as he started to get woozy, using a nearby car to hold himself up. ”Are you ok?”
“Fine,” she snarled. “/Fine/. Bleed out and die, for all I care. /Don’t/ trust me to take care of you. /Don’t/ trust me to save your life the way you just saved mine.” She jerked her hand away from his.
“It’s not you I don’t trust, Summer,” he said, dropping his head from the pain. “I just said to take me back to your place and help me get patched up,” he said reaching out and taking her hand, “I need your help, Summer.”
“Sometimes I really hate you, Pietro.” She sighed, compressing her lips together. “Fine. I need you to put your arms around my neck, and I need you to let me tap your emotions, and when we get there you are going to shut up and listen to why they would not have arrested you.”
