A/N: This one has violence, character death, and a general tear-jerk warning. If you don't want any of the above, don't read this chapter.
I'm going to try to alternate sad chapters with fluffy and/or sexy ones if at all possible, though, so don't worry about tpo many sad ones in a row. :)
Prompt: Imagine person A of your OTP holding person B's hand as they fade away from injuries they got protecting person A.
"Elliot," George whispers helplessly. Please hear me, please, please… You can't go, you can't, not yet…
The blood stains his hands, his clothes, and he doesn't think any of it will ever wash off. It makes his hands slick, so much so that they keep slipping off of Elliot's gunshot wound. He has to press with all his strength to keep them there, and he knows that that's hurting Elliot, but he can't stop.
"Doc?" Elliot mutters, not opening his eyes. "Iz'at you?" He's shivering, slipping into shock, and there's nothing George can do about it. He can't even keep Elliot warm.
He might not have worried about it so much if he felt confident that help is on the way, but he knows that the odds of anyone getting here in time are slim. They're in an alley near Elliot's apartment, and one would think that it wouldn't take long for an ambulance to arrive, but there was a bad fire in Manhattan an hour ago, and the first responders are still busy.
"It's me, Elliot," George says, voice quivering. "Stay with me, okay? Just hold on."
He feels like he's going to cry. This is his fault, all his fault- it wouldn't have happened if he'd been near competent as a field agent. But no, he's so fucking weak and useless and once again, his failures have cost Elliot. He should have seen the gun the suspect had, but he didn't, hadn't even known it was there until Elliot had stepped in front of George and the deafening sound had filled the air, along with Elliot's gasp of pain. The suspect had run for it, two uniformed officers chasing after him, leaving George to apply first aid.
At least he can do that right…
Elliot has fallen silent again, and George is ready to lose it. The truth is, as much as everyone thinks he's so stoic, he isn't. He just hides it, like his parents taught him to. When something's important enough, his exterior crumbles, the ice melting, leaving the real him beneath. Usually it's because of anger, but not always.
"Elliot!" he all but screams. "Please!" His voice cracks. "Please!" He takes one hand off Elliot's chest, presses two fingers into Elliot's neck. His hand shakes. Elliot's pulse is barely even there. Weak, slow, and thready, consistent with Elliot's rapid and shallow breathing, but not what George wants to see at all. He bites his lip, chews it until it bleeds, trying to decide whether to start CPR.
He feels something on his other hand, and he looks down to see Elliot squeezing it gently. George squeezes back as hard as he can. His eyes are stinging, and it takes him a second to realize he's crying, the hot wet tears streaming down his face and landing on Elliot.
"D… Don't…" Elliot's voice is so hard to hear, faint and raspy.
"Shh, save your strength, Elliot, just hold on," he says desperately. He can hear sirens, but they're so far away.
They aren't going to get here in time.
George's chest aches with the thought, but it's true. It's hopeless.
Elliot shakes his head. "N-not… your… fault…"
Were his thoughts that obvious? George looks down at Elliot, swallowing hard. He and Elliot had taken years to start getting along, but once it happened, George had found that Elliot understood him better than anyone else on the team. Elliot was a little more of a mystery to George, but he understood well enough.
"Okay," he whispers shakily. He squeezes Elliot's hand again. There's so much he wants to say, but he knows he's not going to get to say much of it. "I… Y-your family, I'll make sure they- th-that th-they're safe and taken c-care of…" It hurts to say the words, hurts to accept that Elliot is going to die here, all because of him, and he'll never get to see the detective again, they'll never get to argue or laugh or do anything they used to-
Elliot smiles weakly and whispers, "Thank you…"
George opens his mouth, but he never gets to say anything more, because Elliot stops breathing and his grip slackens.
"Elliot!" George cries, but it's hopeless, it's done, there's nothing he can do. He lowers his head, shaking with silent sobs. "Elliot…"
Things blur together: the uniforms come back, they force him to leave, to go down to the station to give his statement and get cleaned up and a host of other things he can't handle right now. His body runs on autopilot, hollowly saying the bare minimum he has to to form an acceptable statement. Elliot's killer will go to jail for life, that's for certain, but it doesn't change a thing and George can't bring himself to care.
Olivia comes in the room to talk to him, and try as he might, George can't get any sound to form. It takes him at least ten tries before he manages to croak, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I tried, I didn't-" Olivia's going to hate him now, Elliot was everything to her, her best friend, her brother-
"George," she says softly. The use of his first name comforts him some. He looks up, sees the tears in Olivia's eyes. "It wasn't your fault. Please, don't-" she inhales- "Elliot wouldn't have wanted that."
He didn't want to be dead either, and look at how good I was at helping with that, he thinks bitterly.
Swallowing, he looks down at his hands. "Can I go?" he asks.
Olivia frowns at him. "You shouldn't be alone right now."
"That's not what I asked," George says tensely.
Olivia sighs. "Yes. Just… Call me, or someone else, when you get home, okay?"
George nods, standing up. He walks out of the building without a word. He thinks about the feeling of Elliot's hand in his, the slackening muscles, the raspy words.
I'm sorry, Elliot.
He bites his lip as he climbs into a taxi, tears streaming down his face. Tomorrow he'll talk to Elliot's family- he owes him that much- but for now, he just wants to go home and pretend nothing else exists.
It's like a gaping black hole has appeared in the Earth, one that only he can see and feel. And he doesn't think it'll ever go away, either.