30. now that it's raining more than ever, know that we'll still have each other

[mememaker]

HURT & COMFORT RP [EXPANDED]
Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.

- Post with Character Name | Series in the subject.
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[littlspecificty]

Arthur had gotten as far as untucking and unbuttoning his shirt after removing his jacket, setting it on the back of a chair, before he caught Eames' movements out of the corner of his eye. He moved back over to him swiftly, "Stop it! Stop it, Eames!" The point man's voice held more emotion than he had previously allowed it to before now, the raw quality of it taking the anger and making it sound more worried, even desperate.

He caught Eames' face with both hands, "Do you realize how close you came to dying today? Hmm? Because I do. I came so close to losing you - while you were right in the next room. I'm not going to just let you jerk around and possibly rupture an already sensitive injury and you end up dying because you couldn't just stop and rest! I can only imagine how you feel but please, just stop making me worry about you splitting your goddamn stitches or popping or vein or something! Please." His voice did start to break around the end but he didn't care. He needed Eames to calm down and not cause further injury to himself out of his own frustration and anger at the situation.

[triedinception]

He jerked slightly at first, at the touch of Arthur's hands to his face, because he was frustrated and annoyed and it was hitting him that he wouldn't be able to speak. To explain his ideas to a team or order his meals or even just tell Arthur he was goddamn frustrated.

And it was probably permanant.

But he wasn't the only one affected. He raised his hands to Arthur's, covering them with his own as the point man spoke. And as he heard the break in his voice, the fact that Arthur had had to see him with a slit throat and rush him to a hospital and hope he made it- the point man was frustrated and worried.

Eames couldn't even tell him that he was sorry to worry him.

There was silence for a moment, Eames looking at Arthur before he closed his eyes and swallowed, wanting to say something, anything. He couldn't. And even swallowing hurt. His hands slid to Arthur's wrists and tightened as he felt the sting and then hot spill of tears on his cheeks. He hadn't cried when his throat had been cut. Not in the hospital. Not on the ride home. But now all of a sudden he was in pain and soundless and it was just - too much.

[littlspecificty]

And Arthur didn't begrudge the other man his tears; his voice was important to him. Arthur had always made it seem like Eames loved to hear himself speak when, really, he loved Eames' voice. The rough elegance and the deepness it could hold in the quiet early of the morning when he was rubbing a hand up and down Arthur's back, whispering nonsense and wicked things in his ear because he just couldn't stop talking. The sound of it would actually lull Arthur to sleep.

And now it was gone. Arthur wouldn't ever hear that "nonsense" whispered to him anymore. Wouldn't hear him call him all of those pet names or make all of those shameless remarks full of innuendo or be just generally obnoxious and Arthur tell him to shut the fuck up like he always did.

Eames' primary mode of expressing himself - whether it be a shout of temper, a thoughtful explanation, a condescending remark, or a rasp against Arthur's ear that caused him to flush - it was gone. It had been taken from him. Arthur would be the first to say that the forger didn't deserve such a cruel fate.

Pressing his forehead against the other man's again, his own tears blurring his vision but refusing to let them fall when Eames had more of a right to cry than Arthur did. Arthur still had his voice. His fingers going into the other's hair, "I'm so sorry I couldn't stop it. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to stop them from doing this to you, Eames. I'm so, so sorry." And, God above, he was. He had been right in the next fucking room. He could have... If only he had come out of the other room just a minute sooner...

[triedinception]

Eames shook his head slightly, hands sliding into Arthur's hair, mirroring the gesture.

It wasn't Arthur's fault Eames had played the turncoat all those years ago, was not Arthur's fault Eames had been careless and let them find him, and the fact that they were competant and silent was not Arthur's fault either.

So he shook his head and smoothed his hands through Arthur's hair, willing him to understand that. That Eames was greatful that Arthur had saved him, gotten him to help.

That he was still here to be with Arthur.

It didn't help with the tears, because he was crying in his frustration, about the fact that he couldn't talk. But he nudged his cheek against Arthur's, pressing a salty kiss to the side of the point man's cheek.

[littlspecificty]

It didn't stop Arthur's guilt or his feeling responsible for not keeping his senses sharper about his - and the others' - surroundings. It also didn't stop his own mourning of Eames' loss.

But the kiss at least reminded him who needed to be taken care of here and it was his lover. He carded his fingers through Eames' hair, nuzzling his face, pressing his own kiss to the corner of the forger's mouth. He then pulled away a little, certain his own tears had been blinked back, "Will you come lay down with me?"

Rest would do them both good after the past few hours.

[triedinception]

Eames slid his hands from Arthur's hair to his neck, resting on the junction of the point man's neck and shoulders, exhaling in a shuddery breath and nodding after a moment.

He pushed Arthur gently towards the bed after a moment, letting go of him to start pushing his own tweed jacket off, to pull the hospital shirt off.

Of course, in doing that he glanced down and grimaced. They had done a good job of cleaning him up, but there was still dried blood on part of his chest and stomach, flaking off.

[littlspecificty]

Arthur had been moving slowly towards the bedroom, wanting to remain nearby if Eames suddenly needed him, when he saw the dried blood still on Eames' skin. He moved back over to gently grab and tug on the forger's wrist to follow him.

He then led him to the bathroom and didn't waste anytime wetting a washcloth with warm water and then, after wringing it out some, turned to wipe off the dried blood for the other man.

The point man did all of this silently, not seeing any reason to try and distract either of them with idle chatter.