She gets up onto her hands and knees, splintered and slow, her vision coming back in blurred fragments. Fring fucked her up good, but not beyond repair, she's a little unsteady but she'll be fine, and as her sight resolidifies she sees him struggling against Rush on the floor. Hands at each other's throats. Rush is fighting hard but she's not sure it's enough. She needs to get to him, needs to help, but she can't fucking move right, her head is pounding, joints buckling under her weight, fuck. Fuck.

If Gus has hurt Greta-

If he hurts Rush again-

But she can't move, and as she sags again, struggling to breathe normally, she knows, she knows she can't do it this time. She can't.

Gus is on top of Rush now, weakening but still holding on tightly, but Rush will not fold. He won't. She knows that, somewhere, in the pit of her stomach.