In the movies, when someone got shot they went flying backwards like a rag doll.  Meredith just stupidly found herself sitting on the ground like a toddler in front of a teacher reading If You Give a Moose a Muffin.  Her belly felt heavy, wrong somehow, like she was about to start her period.  There was the same sense of not quite right and unresolved internal silliness going on.  Meredith pressed a hand against the front of her turnout coat, then brought it up to her face and saw there wasn't even that much blood.  The muscles of her abdomen were tensed up and were largely holding the blood inside her abdominal cavity.<br/><br/>The asshole with the gun was down, moving around like a catfish someone had whacked across their ugly hard head with a stick.  Good.  He deserved it for hurting the girl.<br/><br/>Girl.  Where was, oh there she was.  Meredith stood up, hand still pressed tight against her belly, and walked over to where she lay still fighting against the wire.  "It's okay, miss," she said and sank to her knees beside Isa.   "Don't cry.  I'll get you out of this."  One hand began to pluck slowly at the wire binding Isabella's wrists.  It was taking a long time because her fingers were cold, so very very cold and the thin wire was slippery with blood.<br/><br/>Meredith was still trying to free Isabella when she passed out and fell forward across Isabella's lower body.