tigerjaw:

“A few more days at most-” Sebastian said, closing his eyes. Today was Tuesday. Wednesday-Friday-Saturday, no that was wrong. Today was Tuesday. Wednesday-Thursday-Friday. Fucking coma fucking with his memory. Opening his eyes Sebastian was frowning as he looked at Jim. His back hurt, he was starting to get a headache, his chest itched and now his throat felt like it was closing up. He glanced over at the machine on his left that recorded his vitals and saw his heart rate was slightly elevated. That was to be expected though.

“Next Monday at the latest, if they transfer me to another hospital.” Sebastian finally decided, shrugging. he watched Jim carefully, unsure of the other man’s reaction, what he would do or say. It was selfish of Jim to do this now, but Seb wasn’t surprised. Jim was only thinking of how this inconvenience impacted Jim. Maybe later he would try to think of Sebastian but right now the sniper knew better than to assume that Jim would be thinking of this in anything but a very narrow and selfish light. 

When Jim reached out Sebastian didn’t move away. He only smiled a bit, ducked his head and tilted it into Jim’s hand, his eyes drooping half-closed. His headache really was starting to get to him. What time was it? They set the drip to start at a certain time. That could be it. It didn’t matter though; Jim was here and he hadn’t killed Sebastian yet and that was fine enough. 

“Haven’t had a lottoppourtunities for personal hygiene, have I?” Sebastian said, his head lolling back onto the bed as he turned to watch Jim, a small smile fixed on his face. He reached up and pulled JIm’s hand down to his mouth, tilting his head up and kissing Jim’s palm before letting you.

“I’m not in pain, kit, I dunno if you care about that. But I can’t feel athing.” Sebastian’s eyes closed as the painkillers seeped into his system and he chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning as he tried to stay awake.

Jim’s mouth moved, twisting unattractively, lips pressed tightly together, then jerked to the side. Monday…he would get a hotel. He had a lot of work to do. Researching doctors, physical therapists, wheelchairs. He was glad to think of it, glad the work was there, that it was something to do. New jargon to learn, information to absorb, to set his brain ticking. Something to fucking do while Sebastian lay here. Still. Helpless. No, he couldn’t be helpless.

Where had his rifle ended up? It seemed a sudden important question, something he needed an answer to. He couldn’t ask Sebastian; the man wouldn’t know, would he? The last time he’d seen the gun, it had been in his hands, ready, held firmly, steady. Now where was it? A trophy for someone? It made his chest feel tight, his pale cheeks flushed suddenly.

But his attention was on Sebastian when the man took his hand, held it, and his hands were weaker, but just the same. Kissed his hand, his lips dry, oddly papery.

Then the sniper called him ‘kit’ and mentioned pain and somehow that fact that he would actually, could actually be in pain from this, from someone else’s transgression seemed to hit him. Saying he wasn’t in pain didn’t matter. Jim set his jaw, head moving again, silent, watching the slight smile, knowing the look of a man as drugs entered his system.

Sebastian hated that. Hated taking cold meds that could knock him out even. He hated this, right?

Every detail, everything in this room, was one more nail in the coffin of the one who’d done this. No, not in the coffin. Nails in the hands, in the back, in the temple of the person who’d done this. He licked his lips, realizing too much time had passed.

“I’m glad. I do care.” It seemed small, the words, though the sentiment was real. His voice was lower, no sing song, no laughter. Sebastian couldn’t feel anything. Jim had a moment, and he wondered if it was the drugs still lingering in his own system, but this sudden moment of wondering if  the feeling had leeched out of Sebastian and somehow into him. He felt hyper-sensitive, angry, upset, lost. And didn’t have a word for a single damn one of those things. Much less know what to do with them. “Just sleep now, hmm?” He touched his hair again, his eyelashes, the skin just beside his scar, his lip. Ran his thumb along his bottom lip. Claiming him still. Again. Taking him back. He listened to the machines, hating them too. They gave away so much, every beep and whisper and line and light. Letting too many people see and hear things they had no right to know. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”