there's bullet holes where my compassion used to be

[falsify]

[Eames, for the most part, is pretty good at avoiding serious injuries, but things happen. People make mistakes, get caught out or outdone. Also weapons are a thing.]

[The upside is that Eames can take a lot of pain. The downside is that he is currently in a lot of pain. Battered and bloody with a few nasty wounds to show for it when he lets himself into Arthur's place. Arthur keeps a first aid kit, he knows that, and moreover he keeps some medical supplies he absolutely should not legally have. He tries to remember where Arthur keeps it, turning to go in his kitchen. Grabbing a sharp-looking knife in one hand as he starts looking through a cupboard he vaguely remembers as storage with little regard for the blood he's leaving everywhere. Calling Arthur's name at the same time to see if he's home.]

Comments

[falsify]

Guess I should count myself lucky it wasn't silver.

[He thinks he has everything, so, uh. Here goes. Eames takes his shirt off (what's left of it) and looks for somewhere to put it before settling on dumping it in the sink. There's a lot of nasty cuts, clawmarks etc., but Eames is more focused on the bullet hole in his side. He just hopes it didn't go too deep for him to get it out himself.]

[First though, he looks at Arthur with a frown.]

You might want to leave.

[specifiercity]

[Arthur frowns as all of this happens, scanning the various marks on Eames' body.]

What, is there something about fae guts that's worse than anything I saw in the marines?

[He looks up at him with a dry and annoyed look on his face.]

You should be letting me do that.

[falsify]

[He's totally bypassing the comment on how Arthur should do this and rolling his eyes.]

Nobody wants to sit around and watch somebody dig out a bullet.

[specifiercity]

What, am I supposed to go back to bed?

[His speech is a little slurred with how tired he is; kinda sounds like he should go back to bed, but he won't. He leans back and crosses his arms, looking away to allow Eames a speck of privacy.]

You came here and woke me up.

[falsify]

Go back to sleep.

[As if it's ever difficult for Arthur. Also he's in a lot of pain and losing a lot of blood and he's getting impatient to do this.]

[specifiercity]

No.

[As if Arthur's just going to let Eames dig into his own body with a knife while he lays in bed. He's not about to let him potentially pass out on his kitchen floor without some supervision.]

[falsify]

[Eames sighs and rolls his eyes again, but he's not going to waste time arguing with Arthur. He straightens up where he's standing against the counter, (a bad idea? Yes, but he thinks sitting would make this harder,) suddenly aware he wishes he had a mirror, and grabs the knife with a soft "okay" on an exhale.]

[There are probably better ways to do this than sticking a knife in the wound to cut it a little more open, but it's probably also the fastest way even as careful as he's being. Eames bites down on a yell, it comes out strangled as his vision whites for a second at the pain and he puts his free hand over the wound in some attempt to slow the bleeding before he goes back in.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur watches him out of the corner of his eye, unimpressed. There is going to be blood everywhere, this is so rude.]

[falsify]

[Well if Arthur didn't insist on staying, he could go back to bed and wake up to a clean kitchen.]

[Instead he gets to watch Eames puffs a few shallow breaths to get his head on right, followed by a deeper one as he goes back in to open up the wound a bit more with another, longer one of those strained noises.]

[This one leaves him a little shaky, he turns and drops the knife in the sink and braces himself against the counter while he catches his breath. He sure would love to not be being watched for this.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur finally stands and crosses the room to Eames, stopping to grab a clean dishtowel from a drawer. He puts his hand on Eames' shoulder, somewhere hopefully that doesn't have an open wound.]

Let me do this. Your hands aren't going to get any steadier.

[falsify]

It's fine.

[He doesn't really acknowledge Arthur's presence, deep breaths instead while he reaches for where he left the tweezers.]

That was the worst part.

[specifiercity]

The next part's not much better.

[His hand darts out for the tweezers, and he holds them away from Eames and offers up the dishtowel.]

Bite down on this, you're going to wake up all my neighbours.

[falsify]

[He reaches for the tweezers to stop him taking them, but Eames is much too slow right now to have a hope, and he has no energy to argue with Arthur about this. He clearly feels annoyed about it, but Eames at least has the good sense not to argue when he takes the towel and does as he's told.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur gets up in Eames' space, close enough to be leaned on or to catch him if this gets to be too much. He's not about to waste time arguing Eames into a chair and there aren't enough towels in his linen closet to save his couch from the blood that might come pouring out of this wound.]

[Arthur takes a deep breath, adjusting his grip on the tweezers and really hoping he can get this bullet out cleanly. He's tired and maybe that's helping combat the adrenaline that otherwise might make his hand shake. At the moment, it's steady, and once he utters a couple curses he plunges the tweezers into the wound and starts looking for that bullet. The moment he feels it, he quickly pulls it out in one smooth motion. Maybe he could have been gentle but he definitely prefers the band-aid approach.]

[falsify]

[Eames watches Arthur's face, very glad it's what he chose to focus on when he sees his expression harden the tiniest bit and Eames does his best to brace himself in the moment between the sudden, blinding pain that has him too shocked to vocalise exactly how much it hurts.]

[It's a special kind of agony when Arthur's looking for the bullet, one that plays out in slow motion and has Eames panting, gasping and practically shouting in a mix of surprise and pain when Arthur moves in a way that he doesn't expect. Though that's nothing compared to the way he screams into the towel when Arthur rips that bullet out of him.]

[It's a short moment, at least, but Eames has to fight himself not to pass out. taking a moment before he slowly and shakily takes the towel so he can speak clearly.]

It all in one piece?

[The last thing anyone wants is to go digging around for trace bits of metal.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur takes the bullet over to the sink and rinses it off, inspecting it closely to see if it's whole. His vision is swimming a bit; ten minutes ago he was peacefully asleep in bed and now he's digging bullets out of people. What the fuck is his life.]

Looks like it.

[He puts the bullet and the tweezers down on the counter and then takes the towel from Eames' hand to press it to the wound and try to slow the bleeding down. He knows Eames will heal but certainly the more blood he keeps the better, right? Regardless, now that there isn't a foreign object inside Eames and he just needs to be patched up, Arthur's letting himself actually be a little shaken by this whole situation - breathing hard and a little rattled like he's been holding it. Swallowing as he blinks, trying to make sure he's fully awake right now.]

[falsify]

[He knows this is a lot, even if Arthur didn't care all that much about him, being woken up by someone in this state and then getting involved is a lot to deal with. Eames frowns; he's pale and clammy and breathing heavy, but he's fairly sure he can take care of the rest of this.]

I can take care of this myself.

[Voice soft, he's not trying to be indignant here, and he puts his hand over Arthur's, angling to take over.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur withdraws his hand and takes a step away to lean on the counter. He seems to be coming down off an adrenaline rush himself.]

I can get some towels so you can lay down on the bed.

[falsify]

[Eames glances at the sutures on the counter and nods.]

Yeah.

[He is really not confident about making it to the bedroom. Honestly he's amazed he's still standing.]

[specifiercity]

[Arthur leaves the kitchen and goes to his linen closet, figuring Eames can take care of himself for the few minutes that he's gone. He grabs a few towels and heads to his bedroom to make sure one side of his bed is protected as much as it can be from all the blood that seems to be seeping out of Eames at the moment. Once that's all set up he comes back to the kitchen.]

You need help?

[falsify]

[Within those few minutes, Eames has slumped down to sit on the floor, back against one of the cupboards while he sews himself up. Despite the amount of blood, it's not actually a huge wound. Eames benefits too from not needing to care about how messily it scars, so it's not neat, but he's doing his best to move quickly while he has any semblance of energy left.]

I've got it.

[specifiercity]

[Arthur digs out another clean dishtowel and wets it under the tap quickly before he kneels down in front of Eames. He's clearly tired and his eyes are heavy but he reaches out and starts wiping blood off of Eames' skin, away from what he's doing just to clean him up a bit while they're here and before he lays down. He's being helpful.]

[falsify]

[Despite everything — the way he has to will his hands not to shake, the pain he's in, the exhaustion, how hard it is to sew himself up when his hands are slick and his vision is swimming — the action from Arthur makes him smile. His gaze flicks up to Arthur's face briefly, full of affection and gratitude.]

Thank you.

[specifiercity]

Mmm.

[Arthur's far too tired to appreciate any of the unspoken affection Eames might be sending him, focusing instead on just making sure Eames is as cleaned up as he can get him.]

You gonna be okay?

[falsify]

Yeah.

[He's always fine, didn't you get the memo.]