"Erik, dear, while I certainly appreciate your quick thinking, I don't believe the ambulance is going to be able to take me away in this state." Said state was a particularly unusual one, as the metal leg of a table was currently twisted around the top of his calf, tied as neatly as if the knot had been made from silk ribbon and not solid iron. The rest of the wrought iron patio table was still attached to its leg, and consequently was also attached to Charles. He assumed it would be rather uncomfortable, were he able to feel it; there was a reason tourniquets tended not to have hard edges, after all.
"...Right," Erik said, still looking as pale as a ghost, and with a wave of his hand the majority of the table fell away from Charles, leaving only what was necessary to stem the bleeding.
Perhaps he should explain a bit more, Charles thought, choosing to focus on something beside the panic surrounding him. He may not have been able to feel the wound in his leg, but the headache that he was getting from the other diners was doing a solid job of standing in.
They were supposed to be having a celebratory lunch; Erik had received a well-deserved promotion at the hospital a bit over a week ago, and today their schedules had finally settled enough for them to go out. They had chosen to go to their favourite cafe, the one a few blocks over from said hospital that served what they both considered to be the best pastries in all of the city.
And it had been lovely, to start. The food was as good as it always was, the weather was perfect, and they had managed to claim one of the tables that overlooked the gardens rather than just the street. Truly, it had been a great time.
Then, of course, a bit of a damper had been put on it when a masked man had run in, waving a gun around wildly and demanding all of the money in the registers. And, because guns aren't meant to be waved around like a team banner at a football game, the gun had gone off as the man swung it, lodging a bullet in Charles' leg before Charles or Erik could even process what was happening.
Charles hadn't noticed the extent of the wound right away, focused as he was on stopping the gunman, but Erik had, and he had immediately taken steps to stem the bleeding.
Not necessarily the ideal steps, Charles considered, looking down at the wrought iron tourniquet, but Charles appreciated the actions all the same, and the table leg did seem to be doing its current duty rather effectively.
"I really don't know how we're going to explain this to the hospital." Charles glanced over to the gunman, currently sitting silently on the floor where Charles had sent him. "Or the police, for that matter."
Erik frowned, but didn't offer an answer. Soon, it seemed, their secrets would be out.
