hitting on all six

please be aware: multiple instances of strong language, gore, blood, and some light nsfw implications are all in this oneshot.

(December, 1922, New York. The basement that will become Club Avalon.)

"I TOLD YOU TO PUT THEM IN THE FUCKIN' FIRE!" howled Agatha, half-delirious, lurching up from where she'd had her head against the table.

"I'M DOIN' IT!" Hester barked back. She shook Agatha's good arm. "For how long?"

"Fuck off!"

"How long, Agatha?"

"Are you sure they're still in there?" asked Dot, stripping Agatha's bloodied coat off her back and starting to cut away the section of her shirt around the wound. The whole room stank of the sour tang of blood.

"Of course I'm fuckin' sure--" Agatha pitched forward again, cutting herself off, losing the little colour she'd regained. Sophie caught her and turned frantically to Dot.

"Dot, she's passed out again!"

"So I can see." said Dot grimly.

"What am I doin' with these?" barked Hester, black eyes huge and flared in her pale face, dutifully holding the tweezers into the flame. Dot grimaced.

"She wants you to sterilise them, so you can use them to get the bullets out."

Hester lost even more colour than Agatha, if that was possible.

"What? I ain't..."

She looked back down at the fire and trailed off. Dot looked between the two of them, and sighed deeply.

"I'll do it." she held the scissors out to Sophie. "Cut the fabric off her hip, as well."

Sophie did as she was told, silently. Dot marched over to the bits and pieces that the builders had left behind, and yanked a piece of leather from their toolboxes. She rinsed it briskly under the tap and folded it up, aware of Hester and Sophie staring at her. Without a word, she crossed back to Agatha, prised her mouth open, and shoved it between her teeth.

"So she doesn't split her own tongue." she said.

Hester and Sophie exchanged terrified glances. Dot ignored them and took a deep breath, trying to focus. She and Agatha had definitely discussed the treatment of gunshot wounds before, but it had not been in the context of Agatha herself getting one. Still...

"Once it's out, we need to wash it-- not with alcohol, just with water. In terms of blood loss, I think she might have been lucky. Not hit any major veins or arteries. Then... Sophie, do you have any Vaseline?"

"I... yes, I think so--"

"Good. Get that, and some bandages, so we can dress it."

Sophie nodded briskly and hurried off, tense and stumbling in her heels. She took the stairs three at a time.

Dot turned to Hester.

"Hold her down."

"...What?"

"You have to."

Hester stared at her, rabbit in headlights, deer in a trap.

"But--"

She shot a terrified glance in the vague direction of the figure slumped on the table.

If it had been any less of a dire situation, Dot would have been kinder.