his wounds healed, the skin a bit thicker than before.

[pilfered]

WHO: eames and arthur.
WHERE: somewhere in the city lol specifics.
WHEN: late friday night.
WARNINGS: swearing, blood and injuries, eames.
SUMMARY:
FORMAT: PROSE IN ACTION BRACKETS then whatever mici wants.

[ nothing hurts until the blindfold comes out, and then the pain is crippling, so much so that he staggers sideways, catches himself on the brickwall. his palm is bloody.

all of him is bloody, from the feel of it. he's bleeding beneath the fabric of his coat, and cursing doesn't alleviate the pain, but it distracts him from it for a moment. someone's been at him with some sort of blade, that he can tell, but he can't remember. there's a large chunk of missing time and he can't think back and understand how he got to this spot, to this moment.

is this a dream?

he remembers the morning. he remembers getting up and twisting until his spine cracked--sleeping on the couch never agreed with him, but he'd given sark the bed--and he remembers making tea and he remembers trailing his mark for three hours before lunch and he remembers walking through a department store and he remembers calling his client and then...

and then there is nothing, just a chunk of missing time before he woke up covered in his own blood and--

and he needs to sit down before he falls down. he doesn't know how much blood he's lost. there's no way of telling what is bleeding the worst; whoever is responsible for this is thorough. he knows that moving hurts, but he also knows that he's in not fit shape to lie his way into a hospital. so he forces himself onwards until he finds a bench (a bus stop, he'll be furious if he bleeds to death at a sodding bus stop) and sits and digs his phone from his pocket.

his thumb leaves smears of blood on the keypad. shame, he'd like this phone.

the message is brief. come at once, because explanations take too much time and he isn't certain of what happened in either event. and then he sits back and starts cleaning the blood off his shaking hands with the blindfold, if only because he needs at least some semblance of normalcy. ]

Comments

[specifythepoint]

[And Arthur does come, without replying, immediately. There is no waiting, no reason to wait: he just shows up in his car, rolls up.

Whatever reason it is, if it wasn't an emergency, then Eames wouldn't have called. He has his Glock out and ready, just in case, and he moves quietly like he's done this his whole life.]

Eames.

[His voice is pitched low, so that the other man knows he's there, but not so loud so that someone might hear it.]

[pilfered]

Hello, darling.

[ arthur, prompt as always. none of the comparisions that fly to mind are particularly kind, but eames has ever had a habit of being casually cruel. he takes a moment, folds the blindfold carefully before putting it into his breast pocket.

the neatness is a waste, he thinks. there's too much blood soaking into his shirt for him to pass as tidy. ]

That was faster than I expected.

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur is scowling]

What the hell happened?

[He's already shedding his coat and rolling up his shirtsleeves to take a closer look at Eames, to push back fabric and make sure he can move him]

[pilfered]

[ arthur's not being rough, but eames grits his teeth anyway, raising his hands to catch arthur's wrists. the movement pulls at the lacerations--they must be deeper than he thought. ]

Not here.

[ it's painfully public. whatever mess he has beneath his coat, he'll gladly keep it to himself until they're somewhere without the possiblity of an audience. ]

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur moves away and opens his backseat door, then goes back to Eames to offer a shoulder, a hand, whatever he needs]

Inside, I'll take you to where I'm staying.

[pilfered]

[ he pulls himself to his feet without hesitation, because he has died a thousand times in a thousand dreams, and he's felt pain more acute than this. this is all in his head, and he can set it aside and do what he must.

his grip on arthur's shoulder is just a fraction too tight. ]

If you stop for a red light I'll shoot you with your own gun.

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur walks around and slides into the drivers seat. He is bloody but doesn't care]

My powers do more than just make eternal staircases. We won't see any reds.

[pilfered]

[ this is what comes of their business. bloody hands and less-than-precise scars. once he's settled, eames leans fowards, groaning. ]

Cheers then. I hope your sewing skills are up to par.

[specifythepoint]

I haven't in a while but I can still make a clean line.

[Vroooom]

Who.

[pilfered]

I don't know.

[ the statement is spat out, furious and embarassed. eames remembered the laughter, the heavy breathing, the counterpoint to every single stab of pain, but he has no face to put to it. ]

[specifythepoint]

I'll find out.

[He turns the car into the garage of the building]

[pilfered]

I so rarely compliment your power, but it is useful, isn't it?

[ deliberately brushing aside the issue at hand. also easing out of the car. there's a nice mess of blood where he was sitting whoops. ]

And I'll have to reimburse you for the car.

[ by reimburse he means steal a new one. ]

[specifythepoint]

It can be.

[He's covering Eames' entry into the elevator; up they go]

That would be generous of you.

[pilfered]

[ he's attempting not to drip blood everywhere. there's really no need to make this more conspicuous than it is. ]

It seems we have terrible luck with cars, don't we?

[ they just keep bleeding all over them. ]

[specifythepoint]

Mostly cars that I pay for. Maybe if you get the next one, no one will bleed in it.

[Ding! The elevator opens and Arthur moves to a door, which he opens with a key]

I know it's not my loft but at least the sofa is comfortable.]

[pilfered]

[ eames spares the sofa a single glance before taking off towards the bathroom. he'll worry about sleeping after he's assessed the damage.

nevermind that he's unsteady on his feet and probably about to pass out from either pain or blood loss. ]

[specifythepoint]

[Eames Arthur is a step behind you, and when Eames gets to the bathroom Arthur closes the door behind them, guiding him to sit on the edge of the tub.]

Don't fall and hit your head.

[pilfered]

[ he sits down heavily, only just managing to keep his balance. ]

I don't plan on adding concussion to my list of injuries.

[ which it's high time he catalogued, so it's time to clumsily start unbuttoning his shirt and tugging at the tweed jacket. ]

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur goes for his field kit - he hasn't sewn anyone up, really, since his days in the army but he's more than capable. He returns with it and his overshirt off, wearing only a wifebeater and his trousers.

His scars are visible around his shoulders, but he doesn't seem bothered.]

How did this happen?

[pilfered]

[ the bloody clothes are in a pile on the floor. eames is looking at the damage in something like disbelief.

they'd been thorough. whoever this was, they'd been thorough. he doesn't want to think about what he'd told them, his name and his power. he'd been doing so well keeping it secret. ]

Darts. They started out with bloody toothpicks and moved up to darts when they didn't get the desired result.

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur takes a bottle of peroxide and dips a clean bandage and starts cleaning off the blood]

They drugged you.

[pilfered]

I think so, yes.

[ there's a sharp hiss as the peroxide hits his skin, then silence. ]

[specifythepoint]

Why?

[He asks this after he's cleaned Eames off, and is threading a suture needle]

[pilfered]

[ eames doesn't answer immediately. ]

They suspected me of being one of those Skrulls.

[specifythepoint]

[Arthur just looks at him blankly]

Are you?

[Like that would get an honest answer]