'Stupid… Stupid… Stupid… Stupid…' the word kept on repeating like a dull mantra in her head. She barely felt the pressure on her arms; she barely felt the rain pound on her skin, and she barely felt the persistent blood flow dripping from her wrists to the very tips of her fingers where they fell onto the ground below.

She stumbled through the slippery mud. She shoved her way past a caution sign. She needed help badly. She had to find something, anything, to help her stop the blood flow. Her clumsy tourniquet wouldn't help for long, and it was too dark for someone to come looking for her at this time.

Darkness was edging her vision. Only the combination of fear and determination was keeping unconsciousness at bay. Her feet slid on the mud and she fell face-first.

The cold mud was soothing. For a moment she was tempted to allow the blood to continue flowing and let her into its icy world of oblivion, but the moment past. She clumsily got up from the ground and kept walking through the mud in hopes of salvation.

Almost as though to answer her prayers, she caught sight of an apparently abandoned emergency vehicle. She wondered how an emergency vehicle got on a virtually uncharted dirt road, but she decided not to look the gift horse in the mouth.

She stumbled to the back of the vehicle and fumbled with the door. "Come on… Please… Come on…" she murmured, and the door clicked open.

She was too busy getting into the ambulance to notice the headlights flicker on briefly.

She didn't pay attention to the fact that the overhead light on the ceiling of the truck was on. She fumbled with her very numb hands with the drawers inside, trying to find a bandage of some sort. It was hard, considering the fact she couldn't feel her fingers, or her hands for that matter. She opened the cabinet none too gently and scrabbled for the materials within.

She stiffened at the sound of someone clearing their throat. "What are you doing?" a male voice asked. She turned towards the door adjoining the front of the ambulance to the back, and she saw a man standing there.

He seemed to be in his mid-thirties, maybe younger. He had short brown hair and a lean body. His eyes were amazing, though perhaps amazing wasn't the word for them. Perhaps the right word for them would be scary. They were almost inhumanly blue, and something in them seem much more ancient then the man appeared to be.

The teenage girl blushed slightly when she realized she was staring. She looked down to the ground and fixed her gaze on the puddle of water and blood she was making on the floor. The little demons of darkness still edged her vision, and she could swear it was getting harder to keep them abated.

"Well?" the man asked. She could feel his eyes going down to the puddle of blood on the floor, then to her wrists.

"I was looking for a bandage," she murmured. The man quietly opened one of the many drawers.

"It will take more then bandages to fix that. Sit down and let me see the wound," he said, taking out some materials. She obediently sat cross-legged on the floor and held out her arms, taking note that her fingers now seemed to have taken on an interesting shade of purple.

The man sat across from her and took both wrists. His hands were surprisingly soft and gentle. He looked at the ribbons tied tightly a little above the elbows.

"Your circulation is cut off severely. You realize that can cause you to lose both arms, correct?" he asked, taking out a cotton ball and some rubbing alcohol. The teenager shrugged.

"It was better than bleeding out," she muttered. The man glanced at her face. Again, she felt herself blush. She was probably a damn sight to see! Torn up clothes, caking mud in her black hair, dirt streaked across her face, and dull brown eyes to boot. The man didn't seem to mind and rubbed away the caked blood around her wound, and pressing the cotton ball hard against the places that hadn't stopped bleeding. She hissed slightly at the stinging pain.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"I'm Stacey. What's yours?" she asked.

"My name is Ratchet," he said. She raised an eyebrow but otherwise didn't comment. He frowned slightly at the slashes on her wrists.

"These wounds… There aren't any bruises to show that you were held down while this happened…" he looked up at her, "Suicide?"

Stacey grit her teeth and looked away. "It's my life, I can end it when I damn well want to," she muttered.

"Yet you still looked too staunch the blood flow when you were done," he commented. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I was too much of a coward to face death, so I hightailed it towards the nearest place I could get, hence," she gestured with her head around the vehicle, "Our little meeting."

Ratchet examined her wrists a little more carefully. "You were too much of a coward to face death, or was it your saving grace to attempt to carry on?" he asked, wiping it with more alcohol. Stacy sighed.

"I don't really know which it is," she said. Ratchet looked up at her again.

"I'll need to stitch them up, but I'm afraid I don't have any anesthesia," he said. Stacey shrugged.

"I don't have any choice. Fire up the needle," she said with dark humor. Ratchet gave one last swipe of the cotton ball and opened a drawer next to him. He brought out a needle and some surgical thread. She winced as he started sewing her skin.

"If you don't mind me asking, why?" he said. Stacy pursed her lips.

"What? Ya don't think a girl can say 'to hell with it all' and kill herself?" she asked. Ratchet raised an eyebrow and she deflated under his gaze.

"I'm pregnant, dammit," she muttered, looking at the ground. There was a lengthy silence, during which the needle stopped sewing her skin. When she couldn't resist anymore, Stacy risked a glance at Ratchet. His face showed total and complete stunned shock.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I'm pregnant," she said. Ratchet stared at her for a long moment.

"Aren't you a little… young?" he asked. Apparently he hadn't dealt with a lot of pregnant women in the past. Stacey sighed.

"Yeah, that's the problem. Too young and too poor," she muttered. Ratchet seemed to be going through an internal argument. He began sewing her skin again.

"Why isn't your mate with you then? Isn't he helping you?" Ratchet asked. Despite the situation, Stacey nearly laughed out loud at the sheer confusion on Ratchet's face.

"Naw, he ain't helping me," she said. Ratchet cocked his eyebrow, an expression that clearly said 'explain.' Stacey sighed again.

"My mom warned me 'bout this. She said that I'd go get myself pregnant if I continued going around the way I did. Sad thing is, as much as I wish I could say it was all my dates fault, it wasn't. We got ourselves drunk, we had sex all night, and a week and a half later I found that I was pregnant," her tone became bitter, "I was sixteen, dammit! My family has trouble making ends meet as it is, and abortion is too expensive because none of the local hospitals will provide it, so that's out of the question. I get attached to people really easy, too. So as soon as I see the kid I'm carrying, I'm never going to be able to let 'em go. As soon as my date found out he was going to be a dad, he high tailed out of the relationship and cut all connections with me. He won't even give me a lousy check to help out with an abortion. So I'm stuck here," she said bitterly. Ratchet seemed to be wrestling with the idea her mate would just abandon her like that. He shook his head.

"I don't believe I can honestly say I have an idea of what you're going through. I have never been in this situation, nor have I known someone in it up until now. I do know one thing however," he tied the knot to the thread in the last wrist and cut the rest of the thread off, leaving it to the side. He put his hand on her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. "I've been a medic for a war for longer than you have been alive. While I've been in that war, I've seen some stupid ways for soldiers to get themselves injured, and or killed. Now, trying to take your own life when you can just try to pick up the pieces happens to be one of them. I'm not going to minimize the magnitude of your plight, but I've seen a soldier who had his entire home town burned before his eyes, and he still was able to continue on. You were given a gift, the day you were born. Don't throw it away," he said.

His words seemed to break the dam in Stacy's heart and mind. She smiled, pressed her head into Ratchet's shoulder, and cried. She actually cried. It was a real cry, the kind that someone does only when they really need it; it was the kind that healed their soul.

Ratchet seemed uncertain as to what he should do. Finally deciding on something, he wrapped his arms around the crying female and rubbed circles in her back. Sometimes, medics were called upon to heal more then the physical wounds. This happens to be one of those times.

Stacy suddenly felt like a little girl again, seeking comfort from her father after a particularly scary nightmare. It struck her how odd it was that she would pour herself out to a complete stranger, but she supposed this wasn't exactly a conventional situation. When she finally cried herself out, she straightened and smiled a little.

"Heh, sorry 'bout that. I bet you don't have random girls crying on you often," she said. Ratchet waved away her apology.

"You have nothing to apologize about," he said gruffly. He untied the tourniquets on her arms.

"You're lucky you found me when you did. Any later and you would've lost your arms at the very least. As it is, it will be a while until you regain full control over them," he said. He wrapped her newly stitched up wrists in some bandages.

They both stood up, and Stacy happily noted that it didn't feel like she would fall over unconscious anymore. Ratchet rifled through one of the drawers and brought out a clean set of clothing.

"Change out of those wet clothes, otherwise you'll get sick," he said. Putting the clothes on the bed and putting a small towel next to them. He politely turned away as she took off her clothes and dried herself off with the towel. She mentally promised herself that she would take a nice warm bath when she got home.

She vaguely noted that the heat had suddenly been turned on. She pulled on the shirt and pants.

"Okay, you can turn around now," she said. Ratchet turned around and gave her an once-over with his eyes.

"It seems as though you have no more open wounds in need of attendance," he said. Satisfied, he smiled slightly. He unlocked the back doors, (Stacy didn't notice they were closed or locked,) and opened them wide.

There was a colorful lightshow of a sunrise. Pinks, reds, purples, and yellows were splashed across the horizon generously as the orange ball that was the sun peeked out of its hiding place for the night.

Stacey smiled at the sunrise and what it symbolized. It really was a beginning.

She and Ratchet sat in a comfortable silence for a while. Neither felt the need to break it, and they just enjoyed nature's colorful painting. After a minute, Ratchet turned to the teenager.

"Do you want me to drive you to your home?" he asked. Stacey smiled and shook her head.

"No thank you. I don't want to impose anymore than I have. Besides, I think a walk would help clear my head," she said. Ratchet raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm not going to cut myself again," she answered the unasked question. Ratchet nodded.

"Good. I don't want to save you just to learn you killed yourself the minute I turned my back," he said. Stacey cocked her head slightly.

"Do you think we'll meet again?" she asked. A smile played over Ratchet's lips.

"Call it a feeling, but I'm positive we shall meet again," he said. Stacey smiled.

"That's good." She kissed his cheek. "Few people would help out a suicidal and pregnant teen. Thanks a bunch."

She winked and jumped out of the truck, disappearing down the road. Ratchet touched the place where she kissed him lightly.

"Yes, we will meet again, Stacey," he murmured, and the hologram flickered out of view.

A/N

Well, this was inspired by Doors to Let Out Life by CoraxOnyx. Just thought I should add that in. This is my first oneshot, so I hope you all liked it. (I was thinking of turning it into a twoshot, opinions, anyone?) Review, please.

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them.