[MEME] wanna cry saying goodbye
(TRIGGER WARNING: This meme deals heavy with death and also possibly with strong violence or with suicide/depression. If you are not comfortable reading about that, please PLEASE do not proceed further.)
THE LAST WORDS MEME
( RULES and LINKS - ALWAYS USE CUT! )
THE LAST WORDS MEME
( RULES and LINKS - ALWAYS USE CUT! )
Arthur was able to see in the rearview mirror how the other car continued to roll and flip down the hillside; nearly all the windows in his car had been shot out in the fray but Arthur had managed to push the other car off the road. While there may be survivors from that car, it would at least buy him enough time to get ahead.
At least until Arthur couldn't ignore the pain in his midsection -- and the coppery taste of blood in his mouth.
The bastards had gotten one into him after all. Arthur may have caused their car to flip off the road but they had still managed to seal his fate. Judging by where the pain was coming from - and he didn't even have to look down to see the blood pooling in his lap and seat - he didn't have much time left. His breathing was going shaky and his arms starting to tremble. He had to ease off the gas at this rate, his vision blurring and un-blurring.
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When he turned to congratulate Arthur the smile dropped off his face.
He'd seen enough gut wounds in the service to hate them in combat situations, even without the way Arthur's lap and seat were soaked in blood, the sight of blood on the point man's lips. Immediately Eames was jerking off his jacket to press to Arthur's stomach, trying to find the wound.
"Shit Arthur- stop the bloody car!"
Not good, this was not good.
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He kept one hand on the wheel because shit. This was really happening, wasn't it?
The point man tried to reach his totem in his pocket but even attempting that simple action was too exhausting.
"Fuck."
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"Arthur, love, stay with me," He said, shoving himself into the uncomfortable car well, knee knocking a cup holder, pressing his hand and the jacket to the hole in Arthur. His other hand was running over the point man's forehead. "No falling asleep, you hear me? There's a doctor near here - a few miles away. We can bring you there."
But they wouldn't make it, and Eames knew it, but he couldn't just sit here and watch Arthur die.
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The look he gave the other man was almost sad, "No you won't, Eames. I won't make it and you kno --" But broke off as the pain really started to register and he had clenched his jaw against the scream that wanted to come out, teeth already stained red with his eyes squeezed shut, a tear leaking out of the corner of one eye.
His hand fell from wheel and he cursed again, trying to will his tears to stop because like hell would he die a whimpering, sobbing mess.
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"You can make it, you just need to hold on. Please hold on," Eames shifted, closer, hovering next to Arthur.
Was this a dream? If it was a dream then he wouldn't have to worry. But he could remember the job, the botched job, the fleeing and the pursuit.
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Softly, too soft, sounding so small, "I don't want to die." Not like this, not now.
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Sucking in a wet sounding breath, "I know you don't, darling," His hand tightened on Arthur's, still supporting his head. He leaned his forehead on Arthur's shoulder.
"I'm so sorry."
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Arthur wished he could tell Eames that he was even more disappointed to die this way, especially with how hard he had fought to live this long. But that would have taken far too much energy and time and Arthur has very little of either right now.
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And he was still terrified of saying it.
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Arthur wouldn't ever get another chance to say this; how Eames had never been his "enemy", no matter how much Arthur had treated him as such. The part of him that still felt some kind of compassion, kindness, attachment, it made him want to let the other know that he hadn't done anything wrong to the point man.
""I'm sorry I... never ga-ave you... a chance."
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Eames looked up at Arthur again, at the blood on his mouth and felt something break in his chest.
"I'm sorry too, darling... maybe another time."
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Then, weakly, "It's a little hard to concentrate on doing this, you know. Don't need you panicking on me."
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"Excruciating pain." He finished weakly, sounding breathless, leaning back completely in his seat as one arm fell down limply to his blood-soaked lap. And this had been one of his better suits, too. Damn.
Although a part of him was actually more disappointed he was going to die in a fucking Honda. He would of hoped if he died in a car it would at least be a BMW.
All of these things where easier to think about than the fact that, in the next few minutes, he wouldn't be be alive.
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