A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): Sorry for the delay in an update! Thanks to all the new readers who have joined us on this ride and all the ones who are still sticking with this story! Many thanks to all of you who have been reviewing and providing feedback. We both really appreciate it! Let us know your thoughts and ideas of what you think will happen next! I know we are personally excited already for chapter four, but I'm getting ahead of myself so that's all I'm going to say about that! Lol. I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. :)
A/N: (Feathered Filly): Thanks bunches to all you fantabulous readers. I guess I've finally got my comeuppance for enjoying seeing my favorite characters physically hurt. I took a tumble off a horse and down a hill this weekend, resulting in three cracked ribs (unbelievably excruciating!). Guess now I have first hand knowledge of some of the pain I subject these poor characters to lol!
Chapter 3
Eames tried to hurry down the street, but the going was slow as Arthur continued to weaken, leaning heavily on the forger. With the adrenaline coursing through him, Eames felt his senses sharpen even more acutely. The combination of Arthur's ragged breathing and the heavy footsteps running ever closer behind them seemed deafening to his ears.
"Come on, just try to go a little faster," he coaxed the stumbling point man urgently.
"'m trying," Arthur snapped back. His retort lacked any real bite, the pain and exhaustion all too evident in his voice. His foot caught the edge of a doorstep, tripping him. Eames tightened his grasp in an effort to keep him from falling but too late. Arthur slumped to the ground with a gasp, clutching his bleeding side.
"Arthur, we've got to keep moving. Just give me your ha—"
"Just…leave me…Eames." He laid his head back against a wall with a groan. "No use…in him…catching both…of us."
Eames frowned inwardly; sometimes Arthur's practicality was rather harsh. "And no longer have such an excellent target for my witty humor? 'Fraid you're stuck with me, chap," he replied instead. He frowned again as Arthur's answering chuckle turned into a rasping cough. He needed medical attention fast. "Enough dilly-dallying, old man." He hauled the point man to his feet, trying to ignore how the muscles in Arthur's jaw clenched in pain.
Slinging Arthur's arm around his shoulder once more, Eames led them down more eerily deserted streets, trying to make as many turns as possible in hopes of eluding Andrew. Every once in a while, Eames would test doors as they passed them, hoping one would be unlocked and thus provide a temporary hiding place where he could tend to Arthur's wound.
For his part, Arthur remained silent, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other. His free hand continued to press tightly against the wound, trying to keep from leaving a blood trail on the ground or on the white walls of the town.
"There!" Eames exclaimed, spotting a door slightly ajar. He pulled Arthur over to the building, which looked more rundown than its neighbors. Pushing the creaky door open, he saw that the door led to dark stairs leading to a basement room. He carefully helped Arthur down, trying to ignore his barely disguised grunts of pain as his side was jarred by the steep steps. As his eyes adjusted to the weak light provided by the open door above them, Eames saw a lone light bulb hanging from the ceiling. He gave the string a quick yank, hoping against hope that the electricity worked. To his relief, a light, though weak, flickered from the dusty bulb, showing a room relatively empty but for some old newspapers and empty boxes. He helped Arthur lie down beside a dusty wall.
"Eames…" the younger man tried to grip Eames' arm to get his attention, "no exit…door."
The forger winked at him, trying to hide the same uneasiness that lay in his heart. If Andrew did find them, they'd have nowhere to run. "Don't be such a pessimist, pet. Got to keep a stiff upper lip and all that," he said instead. He grinned at Arthur's eye roll. "Be right back, luv."
He hurried up the stairs, chuckling to himself as he heard Arthur's mumbled reply, "Not…your love."
Reaching the top of the stairs, Eames took a quick glance outside. Andrew was nowhere in sight…for now. Still, he shut the door as quietly as he could. Best not to take any chances. He deftly locked the door and jiggled the handle slightly. It wouldn't keep Andrew out if he wanted to come in, but hopefully it would deter him and make him believe no one was here.
Jogging down the stairs, Eames hurried back to Arthur. His felt a clench of fear when he saw the point man's head lying limply to the side, eyes closed.
"Arthur!" He jostled his shoulder roughly.
"O-ow," the younger man moaned.
Eames breathed a sigh of relief. "Just making sure you hadn't checked out, luv." He looked at Arthur sharply, noting the lack of a response to his deliberate jibe. His eyes lowered to where Arthur's hand was clamped tightly against his middle. Blood was still leaking through his pale fingers. "Let's have a look at that, shall we?" He started to move Arthur's hand away but stopped at his sharp intake of breath.
"Don't!" Arthur closed his eyes and leaned his head back wearily. "Just…don't." Re-opening his eyes, he saw Eames watching him carefully. "Don't want…your fat fingers…damaging anything…vital," he joked.
Eames laughed along, but he could see the pain Arthur was trying so valiantly to hide. They both knew checking and cleaning the wound would hurt…a lot. "Have you ever known me to have anything but fingers of delicacy?"
Arthur opened his mouth to respond and the forger cut him off with a look. "Don't answer that." He leaned forward once more. "Sorry, but it's got to be done."
A sharp nod was all he got from Arthur as the point man forced his fingers to relax and move away. Eames felt a begrudging sort of admiration at Arthur's deliberate act of control over his pain. The forger had been shot before in dreams and knew all too well the pain that made you want to just curl up and die. Feeling it for real…it wasn't something he wanted to experience. Guilt washed over him again, knowing that he was the reason Arthur was lying here injured. With a deep breath, he moved Arthur's hand away completely and unbuttoned his vest and shirt to get a good look at the wound. For a relatively small hole, it continued to bleed sluggishly.
Ripping a clean piece of cloth from his shirt, he dabbed away the blood as gently as he could, making sure no dirt and shirt debris had gotten into the injury. From time to time he glanced at Arthur's face. It was pale and his eyes were tightly closed, but he didn't make a sound. Finally, Eames took Arthur's suit jacket and ripped it into strips, using it to bind the wound.
"You…owe me…a new suit," Arthur growled.
Eames chuckled then sobered as he absently wiped Arthur's blood from his fingers. "The bullet's still in there."
"Could have…told you that…Sherlock…No exit wound."
"Just stating a fact, mate. No need to get fussy about it."
Arthur moaned. "Shut up…Eames." His fingers fumbled at his buttons.
"You could just leave it."
"Don't want…to be undressed…when Andrew…gets here." The button refused to go into its hole and he swore at his failure to complete the simple task.
"Let me." Eames reached over and began buttoning his shirt.
Arthur looked at the wall and Eames felt a surge of remorse, knowing how it must gall the other's pride at having to have someone do it for him. He quickly finished buttoning the point man's shirt and vest.
"Thanks," Arthur mumbled.
"Don't mention it."
They both fell quiet then; the room was silent except for the sound of Arthur's ragged breathing. After several minutes, Eames spoke up. "Here." He started to pick Arthur's head and shoulders up and tug him over to his lap.
"Hey!" Arthur's startled yell lacked power. He visibly jumped, falling out of Eames' grasp and hitting the floor with a groan.
"Take it easy, old boy; just trying to make you more comfortable. Thought it might help your breathing some." Eames frowned to himself, knowing Arthur couldn't see his face. The point man always seemed to be on edge, never letting his guard down except when he was hooked up to the PASIV. And then he was always on guard in the dream. The guy never relaxed, as far as Eames knew.
"Oh."
"Yes, oh. It's just me. No need to be so jumpy." He paused. "Now can I move you?"
Arthur made some sort of sound that Eames took to be a yes. More carefully this time, he eased the point man's head onto his lap. Arthur's breathing immediately sounded a lot better.
"So what's your favorite color?
"What?"
"What's your favorite color? Got to have something to pass the time with and I don't think it's a good idea that you go to sleep right now, so this will keep you awake." Eames smiled to himself at Arthur's sound of contempt.
"I'd rather…not say," he answered finally.
Eames chuckled. "Why, is it some girly color like pink?"
Arthur didn't answer.
"Yes! It must be pink!" The forger crowed. "So why pink?"
"Does there…have to be…a why?" Arthur grumbled testily.
"Mate, when it's pink…."
"It was…my mom's…favorite." He surprised Eames when he continued. "I like…pink because…reminds me…of her…but it's a...feminine color…so I usually…go with red."
"Ah, so like your totem." Eames studied Arthur, seeing the shadows and pain that stemmed from something not physical—something deeper that had been there for a long time.
Arthur closed his eyes then, hiding his secrets once more. "Yeah…among other…things," he replied wearily.
"So when was your first kiss?"
Arthur's eyes snapped open in surprise at the random question.
"Let me guess, eighteen?" Eames grinned. "Knowing you it was most likely a ripe old age. Buried yourself in the books did you?"
"You didn't…tell me your…favorite color…yet," Arthur retorted.
Eames winked. "Changing the subject now? Tsk tsk….Well, I'll indulge you, being the good friend that I am. I'm rather partial to—"
Footsteps were heard outside and both Eames and Arthur watched the door, muscles tense.
"Got the blood trail over here," a deep voice spoke. It had to be Andrew's accomplice. "It stops but they have to be around here somewhere."
"Well then let's find them, shall we?" Andrew's voice was annoyed.
While the sounds of the two men checking the surrounding buildings were heard above them, Eames pulled out his gun and checked to make sure it was fully loaded.
"Hand me…mine," Arthur whispered.
Eames hesitated. "We've only got several rounds left between the two of us." He held out Arthur's gun. "Can you hold it?"
With a scowl, the point man took the weapon. The barrel wavered for several moments before his hand flopped back to his side. Slowly, he released his tight grip on the gun with an unreadable expression on his face.
Eames took the gun back. Though Arthur tried not to show it, the forger knew it burned him to feel so helpless. Eames hated to have forced Arthur into such a corner, but it had to be done. Being so low on ammunition, they couldn't afford wild shots. As it was, the odds were stacked against them. The bareness of the room afforded no cover and the way the stairs came down meant—if Andrew shot the lock off the door and entered the top of the stairs—it would quickly turn into a free-for-all.
With these thoughts swirling around in his head, Eames felt the guilt begin to overwhelm him. Had he not overreacted, neither he nor Arthur would be here right now with the younger man staving off blood loss. They'd probably be sitting in some dingy hotel room, pretty as you please, with a glasses of port and sherry. Maybe some vodka to spruce things up a bit.
The voices above grew louder. They were going to try this door soon.
"Arthur…" Eames looked down and ran his finger over the barrel of the gun. "I just want you to know—"
"Alright, let's try this door." Andrew's voice cut Eames' off.
"It's locked too." A pause. "Wait, what's that?" Silence.
A sudden shot rang out and the entire door shuddered violently before giving way.
Eames tightened his grip on the handle. It had begun.
.
A/N: (AtlantisGirl12): Okay, so I apologize for the double author's note, but I have an important request! Today (Sept 9) is my birthday so I'm just throwing out a request for a birthday fic from anyone who's interested. Prompt: Arthur-centric where he gets hurt in some way, preferably in reality (though you can also include dreams) and with as much angst as possible. lol No slash please! Anyway, hoping someone will want to do this! (pretty please with puppy dog eyes lol)