Crossover: HL/Pretender (roughly series 2 before paris HL!verse, series 3 Pretender!verse)
Characters: DM, Jarod, Mr Lyle
For prompt: 037 Sound
Summary: Some people just can't resist helping…
A/N: First in a series of HL/Pretender ficlets – let's see where this one takes me
It was the grunt of pain rather than the sharp crack of the gunshot that made Jarod's heart skip in his chest. Such a small sound to have such huge causes and consequences…
He was too late.
Jarod put his foot down as a sweeper scooped up the squealing boy who had been cowering behind the fallen man and pushed him roughly into the waiting car. Mr Lyle squeezed off three more bullets into the man on the ground before Jarod could skid his car to a stop between them. He tipped Jarod a mocking salute as he dived into one of the Centre cars and sped away.
Jarod jumped at the sound of the passenger side door opening and looked round to see a bloodied hand clawing trying to claw its way onto the seat. Remembering himself Jarod jumped out of the car, dashing round to the other side to where the man lay gasping, blood seeping into his clothes…
…not enough blood…
"Oh my God! We've got to get you to a hospital!" Jarod exclaimed, taking off his jacket and pressing it against the worst of the holes in the man's chest.
Even in the grip of that much pain the man managed to meet his eyes. "No hospitals…"
"But!"
"Promise me!"
Jarod didn't know what else to say. "Okay, okay! I'll do what I can-"
The man smiled. "Just don't try and get rid of the body…it's…a pain…in the ass…"
Jarod felt the man go limp. Why! Why had he got in Lyle's way! This wasn't his fight!
He felt tears leaking from his eyes as he sat back on his heels and stared at the lifeless man in front of him. Sniffing, he wiped his eyes. He didn't have time for this! He had to get to the boy, before he became another one of the Centre's playthings.
A sudden gasp shocked Jarod to his feet. He wasn't dead! Dropping to his knees again Jarod opened the man's shirt despite the injured man's flapping protestations, only to see something he could not explain: little flashes and sparks shot across the wounds in his chest, closing them in a way that Jarod had never seen or heard of before.
"Wh-What?" Jarod asked softly, looking at the man's face clearly for the first time.
He coughed, wincing. "Hi, Duncan MacCleod."
He offered a bloody hand, which Jarod took unthinkingly. "Jarod." He couldn't help the fascination in his voice as he asked, "What are you?"
Duncan actually chuckled, easing himself upright with Jarod's help. "I'm Immortal."