ruffians | there's bullet holes where my compassion used to be

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.]

[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.

[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.]

[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?

[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.

[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.]

[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.

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?

Yeah.

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

[Arthur nods, accepting that answer and withdrawing his hand.]

Let's go to bed.

[Eames puts the needle down on the floor, and puts a hand down to push himself up.]

[It doesn't work. His whole body feels heavy and the attempt to move fucking hurts. He's a floor man now. This is where he belongs.]

... Maybe I'll just stay here.

[Sigh.]

No. Come on.

[He reaches out to offer Eames his shoulder so that he can help him up.]

[It would be so much easier to stay here though.]

[Okay. Fine. Eames takes a moment, trying to fight off that sluggishness as his whole body starts to come down, and looks at Arthur with a frown of concentration. He's slow, and his grip isn't that string, but it's enough for him to hold on to Arthur and get off the floor.]

[Arthur does his best to support Eames' weight, taking him into the bedrooom and around to the side of the bed covered in towels. He's as gentle as he can be about helping Eames lay down.]

[Eames holds on tight to Arthur, letting out soft grunts every couple of steps with the pain of moving. It's not much better when he gets to the bed, groaning even with Arthur's help as he sits and then lays down on his back.]

[Arthur sleepily heads out to his bathroom so he can wash off any blood on his hands and then he comes back, turns off the light, and crawls into bed. He's going to drift off really quickly.]

[Eames is... Extremely uncomfortable for a variety of reasons, but fatigue wins pretty fast. Eames is out like a light once he's still, falling immediately into a deep sleep that'll probably take him through to late afternoon.]

[Arthur's up a little later than usual, groaning into wakefulness but trying his best to stay quiet and not jostle the bed too much so that Eames can keep resting. He just sighs when he sees the kitchen, ignoring the blood at first so he can just make some coffee and decide how he's going to tackle this day.]

[By the time Eames is up, Arthur has downed a pot of coffee, cleaned the kitchen, and gone out to a local witches' apothecary to grab some supplies for some painkilling and healing concoctions he learned how to make from Mal and Dom. It's just in case Eames needs or wants them — Arthur doesn't mind having some extra stock laying around anyway.]

[When Eames wakes up, the main thing he's aware of first is how disgusting he feels. Sticky and grimy and crusty, and then there's the way his whole body throbs and aches, reminding him why he's so gross in the first place.]

[He groans as he makes some attempt to sit up, but it's not happening.]

[Arthur hears the groan from out in the living room, and he gets up and wanders into the bedroom.]

Bet you feel like shit.

Yeah.

[He's not expecting any sympathy, but he'd still like some. He's suffering.]

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