30. now that it's raining more than ever, know that we'll still have each other
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.
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They had not forgotten and did not take kindly to his infamy now, for his forgery. And of course, being the old fashioned types, they want to get revenge.
They'd found Eames while he was under with the current extractor, and the two men they'd sent had decided to slit his throat. Getting your throat cut while under was a surprisingly agonizing experience, and Eames had shot himself out of the dream only to wake to blood pouring down his front.
Arthur had not been under. Arthur had dealt with the men standing over a bleeding Eames when he'd come out from the back room, and then, despite everyone involved hating the idea, had taken Eames to a hospital ( ... )
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He had left the clean up to their other team members and made it very clear that unless they all wanted to try and pull a licensed doctor that could stitch Eames up from out of their asses Arthur would be taking him to the hospital. He didn't even care about the blood he had gotten on himself and his clothes, he had just needed to get Eames into the emergency room and to a doctor before he passed out from blood loss ( ... )
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He sat with his mouth twisted slightly, obviously hating how he couldn't say anything. Still, he waited until they had parked, and Arthur was helping Eames out of the car before he grabbed the point man's arm and then raised one hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, a "thank you" as clear as he could make it.
Eames hadn't had the time to proccess his loss. Actually, he was clinging to that "likely no chance" the doctor had spoken of. That meant there was some chance, of course, wasn't there?
Reality was not something he wanted to face right now.
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At the kiss to his knuckles, Arthur felt something in his chest give away and a hand reached out to run through the other man's hair, pressing their foreheads together for a moment, his eyes closed, giving his own silent 'thank you' to whoever was listening.
He then pulled away because it wasn't safe to be leaving themselves vulnerable like this out in the open. Softly, gently nudging to the other's shoulder, "Come on." And made sure the car was locked and secure before guiding his lover into the side entrance to the hotel.
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He let Arthur guide him through the hotel, ignoring the various looks they got - Arthur's clothes bloody, Eames dressed half in hospital clothes and bandaged throat, plastic bag in hand. His free arm slipped around Arthur's waist, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder when they got into the elevator.
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In the elevator, Arthur moved his free arm to cover the one Eames put around his waist. He turned his face briefly to press his nose into the forger's hair, eyes closed and then turning away when the cart stopped and the doors dinged open.
He gently extracted himself from Eames' arm so he could use that hand to hold the other's, guiding the forger down the hall towards their room, fingers entwining with his. Arthur had remained silent the whole way, the clicking and unlocking of their door's lock sounding oddly loud in the empty hallway.
Arthur, of course, made Eames wait by the door and checked out the whole room first to make sure it was safe before gesturing him in, then checking the hallway again, and then firmly closing the door behind him after entering the room.
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The silence was almost oppressive, walking down the hall, waiting for Arthur to unlock the door and waiting as he looked around. It made Eames angry, almost, made him want to kick and throw things.
The only outward sign of his anger was the furrow of his brow as he stepped inside after Arthur gestured him in. He set the medicines down on the nearby counter, clearing his throat and then immediately wincing as it vibrated his vocal chords, raising a hand to his throat.
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He started taking his blood-stained clothes off as he walked into the bedroom.
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His gestures are jerky and the epitome of frustration and anger, and you can bet if he could talk he would be shouting. As it stood he wanted to anyway but dared not try.
He wanted to tell Arthur that he wasn't doing it on purpose, that it was habit and he was trying to remember not to. But he couldn't say it yet, and his jerky, frustrated hand movements had to speak for him, the scowl on his face vicious.
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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 ( ... )
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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.
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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.
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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.
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