Boidkuck week 2021 | Day 3 Injury/Sacrifice/Healing
Title: I'll hold your hand
Pairing : Bill Boid/Francis Kuck
Rating : M
Summary : Trapped between consciousness and passing out on the bridge of hell, Boid reaches out to Francis to make sure he's alright.
Tags : whump, hand holding, ficlet, in media res, angst
Author's note : My written French is a mess, it's the reason why I write in English. In case you'd want to translate my RPZ fics just send me a message on twitter or tumblr and we can figure something out. (link is on profile)
Mon Français écrit pue la mort alors j'écris en Anglais. Si jamais y a des gens qui veulent faire des trads envoyez-moi un message sur twitter ou tumblr on s'arrangera.
His lung has collapsed. His body is in shock. It doesn't feel like much. His ribs are bruised and he's certain his leg is bleeding. Damned Los Vagos. There are cars hitting each other. Its chaos. Everything is too loud. He doesn't close his eyes and his head is spinning.
He tries to turn on his side. He does it slowly and the pain shoots through his chest again. It licks at him with iron hot fire. The doctors will probably scold him later and Maison will quip about how he is doing everything to die and cancel their mutual promise of committing suicide together. Sometimes he wonders if there isn't a real truth behind his careless words. He won't die today, he's too stubborn to die now.
He forces his eyes to focus. Everyone is on the floor. He can hear others moan in pain. He extends his hand toward his lieutenant who is breathing hard. His eyes are closed and his brow frowns in a rigid expression of pain. There is blood on the side of his mouth and mustache. Boid awakens in himself a will to move. He crawls toward the bloodied body. The pain makes him almost pass out.
Francis' hand is stretched out. He is face down. His legs seem to not be twisted in the wrong ways. There is chafing on his gloves.
"We were absolutely reckless and should never have taken that bridge again." Talking goes easier than he thought. His head swims in the excruciating throbbing around his back.
"I'm sorry, my dear captain, you are absolutely right." Francis winces. His closed eyes are still scrunched together. His breathing is slow as if something is obstructing it.
There is a worry dancing on the surface of Boid's mind. There always will be if the man you're in love with works the same job as you. The job being, putting your safety in danger every single time criminals are involved. He reaches out toward the lieutenant, foolishly weak all of a sudden. It hurts to speak but he does. "Hey, Lieutenant ?"
Francis stirs, he doesn't seem to be able to open his eyes. He tries to. His voice is still light "Yes, my dear captain ?" His hair is a mess. Boid doesn't reach out to put it right even though he wants to. Even in a situation like this he wants… he longs… he wants that airhead of a Francis Kuck to be safe and sound. He betrays himself and let his hand enclose around the lieutenant's gloved one.
"You better not die on me, Lieutenant, or I will kill you myself." Brutal words to mask his worry. Brutal words because the soft ones are tearing him apart from the inside out. But Francis knows what he means. He always knows.
"I wouldn't have it any other way, my dear captain." And sadly, Francis encloses his hand around the captain's hand in return.
Boid hates how much it makes him feel hope before he passes out.