[ She'd closed up at the bar early, seeing as how they'd had a total of two customers her whole shift, a stolen bottle of Jack tucked under her arm as she unlocks the door to her apartment. Stopping in her tracks at the messy trail of blood on the ground in front of her, she sets the bottle down, drawing the gun holstered inside her jacket and stepping quietly into the entryway to follow the bloody trail towards the bathroom. ]
If this is some kind of practical joke, it's a pretty shitty one.
[Generally Eames tries not to just let himself in to people's homes when they're not there, especially if they don't have an established relationship for that kind of thing, but he's pretty messed up right now and Sara's place was the closest.]
[There's a lot of blood, but in his defence Eames is a lot of man. A lot of man who is currently sat, exhausted, on the floor in Sara's bathroom. A haphazard attempt at patching himself up along with some small try at cleaning up after himself, but a not so small wound in his chest along with several other nasty looking ones make it hard to do anything that isn't sleep. Which he's managing, just about.]
It's not my best, I'll grant you that.
[His voice is laboured, breathing heavy. But hey, at least he's not dead?]
[ The fact that the door hasn't been broken into means someone's snuck their way in, and even in a bloodied state, that's impressive. Which narrows her list of suspects down only slightly, and when her eyes settle upon the pale, bleeding hunk of man collapsed on her bathroom floor, she's only slightly surprised that it's him.
She clicks the safety on her gun and tucks it into the back of her pants, crouching down immediately and glancing him over. ]
Christ, Eames. How the hell are you still conscious? [ He's lost pints of blood by now, and it shows in the heave of his breath, the shake of his hands. The humor's gone from her face, her eyes sharp and calculating as she checks the wound at his chest. ]
What type are you? Your blood type, what is it?
shh i am the LAST person who will complain about slow tags
[Ah. Of all the ways to have the "by the way, I'm not human," chat, this is pretty low on the list of ways Eames expected to have it. He huffs out a wet-sounding laugh, eyes falling closed for a moment that's too long for his own comfort. It takes a real effort to open them again to look up at Sara.]
Doubt you'll find a donor for me here. [He attempts a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes.] I'll be fine, just need to stop bleeding.
[Well. That's a bit of a tall order isn't it.] ... Or bleed less. A lot less.
[ Well, doesn't he just sound like the perfect bill of health. Brow furrowing, she opens the bathroom cabinet to grab a box of first aid supplies and some spare towels and kneels down next to him. ]
You're laughing like this is some kind of joke I'm in on. [ Carefully, she starts to peel the shirt away from his skin, trying to get a better look at the wound. ]
I'll get you cleaned up and stitched. Just... do me a favor and don't pass out, okay?
[Eames is quiet for a long few moments, watching Sara work and helping where he can, even if it's just keeping his hands out of the way. It takes longer than it should for him to realise he hasn't actually started to explain his little personal joke. But he's having a rough time staying focused, surely it's forgiveable.]
I'm not human. [He licks his lips, pointedly ignoring the way even he can hear how awful he sounds right now.] Only met one person even kind of like me here, and he's gone now.
[ Her hands are steady, quick, precise. Working quickly to clean him up and stitch him, trying to focus on the work while prodding him to keep talking. Stay conscious. Stay awake.
At his words, she hesitates, glancing up at him skeptically. ] What?
[ He's lost a lot of blood. Not making any sense. She returns to sewing him up, brow furrowed. ] Like you, what does that mean? What are you, if you're not human?
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hurt me, comfort me
If this is some kind of practical joke, it's a pretty shitty one.
oh baby oh baby
[There's a lot of blood, but in his defence Eames is a lot of man. A lot of man who is currently sat, exhausted, on the floor in Sara's bathroom. A haphazard attempt at patching himself up along with some small try at cleaning up after himself, but a not so small wound in his chest along with several other nasty looking ones make it hard to do anything that isn't sleep. Which he's managing, just about.]
It's not my best, I'll grant you that.
[His voice is laboured, breathing heavy. But hey, at least he's not dead?]
Re: i am so late sry <3
She clicks the safety on her gun and tucks it into the back of her pants, crouching down immediately and glancing him over. ]
Christ, Eames. How the hell are you still conscious? [ He's lost pints of blood by now, and it shows in the heave of his breath, the shake of his hands. The humor's gone from her face, her eyes sharp and calculating as she checks the wound at his chest. ]
What type are you? Your blood type, what is it?
shh i am the LAST person who will complain about slow tags
Doubt you'll find a donor for me here. [He attempts a smile. It doesn't reach his eyes.] I'll be fine, just need to stop bleeding.
[Well. That's a bit of a tall order isn't it.] ... Or bleed less. A lot less.
<3 <3
You're laughing like this is some kind of joke I'm in on. [ Carefully, she starts to peel the shirt away from his skin, trying to get a better look at the wound. ]
I'll get you cleaned up and stitched. Just... do me a favor and don't pass out, okay?
CASE IN POINT LMAO i'm so sorry
I'm not human. [He licks his lips, pointedly ignoring the way even he can hear how awful he sounds right now.] Only met one person even kind of like me here, and he's gone now.
<3 <3 no worries!
At his words, she hesitates, glancing up at him skeptically. ] What?
[ He's lost a lot of blood. Not making any sense. She returns to sewing him up, brow furrowed. ] Like you, what does that mean? What are you, if you're not human?