It happens in the span of a heartbeat.
And now heâs on the ground trying to scrap bits of what he can see and what he can hear to make sense of what had just happened.
âWhâŚâ His mouth tries to form words but when he looks up at Teddy, all he can muster is a confused stare. Why did he push me? Why isnât he moving? Why the fuck is he just standing there?
And then, like roses in bloom, the first spots of blood.
He scrambles to his feet and pries Teddyâs hand away the area around his torso, only to further stain the fabric of his shirt with a deep, sinister color. He dreads to pull it up and to see how bad it is.
âOh, Christ⌠oh, fuck⌠oh fuck.â He speaks with a shuddery breath, barely able to make a sound as he quickly presses his hands over Teddyâs, over the afflicted area to apply pressure, then helps him sit down, slowly, so as not to aggravate the wound.
Heâs completely blank, shock making his hands shake that he has to tightly curl his fingers over Teddyâs and press harder against his torso. He doesnât think about chasing after whoâd done this or to pull his phone out to call an ambulance or to call Selwyn like Teddy told him to. He can barely remember how to breathe as it is.
âWhat?â His eyes frantically attempt to speak in behalf of his mouth. âNo, I need to⌠I need to get you toâŚâ He turns his head to see if thereâs anyone nearby who could help them, but thereâs no one. Just him, just Teddy, and a bullet that is where it shouldnât be.
He composes himself just enough to remember where heâd parked his car. âCome on,â he says, positioning Teddy so that he has one arm around Balianâs shoulders to help himself up, then Balian carefully brings him to his feet, one hand around his torso and the other keeping pressure on the wound, but not before heâd taken his own gun out from its holster should a second shot be fired.
He nearly has to carry half of Teddyâs weight as they try and find their way to Balianâs car, and he could just feel how much heavier Teddy is getting against him. âNo, no, noâŚÂ not here, not now. You gotta stay with me, okay? Weâre almost there.â Then he spots the black sedan parked right around the corner. âSee? Weâre almost there. You just gotta⌠you gotta keep walking with me now, okay? Teddy?â The words sputter out, desperate and afraid that he could lose him here, out in the fucking street just because he said heâd take a bullet for him and was stupid enough to actually do it. He suppresses the urge to yell at him, to tell him that what he did was wrong, that it wasnât his bullet to take or his choice to make, but he holds his tongue at the thought of Teddy becoming just another body for him to wake on a cold, metal bed.
Once they reach the car, he lets Teddy lean against the passenger door while he fumbles for his keys. He presses the button on the fob and opens the back door where he carefully ushers him in through the other door. He then takes off his jacket and presses the fabric into both of Teddyâs hands. âJust keep pressing on it, okay?â He closes the doors and climbs into the driverâs seatâ he barely registers each movement, operating on autopilot now as he drives to the hospital. Glancing at the rearview mirror, he watches Teddyâs face and makes sure he stays awake. âDonât close your eyes on me, please? Teddy? Teddy.â
He knows he should be concerned. He can feel the blood soaking through the cloth, can feel his eyelids getting heavier with every heartbeat that escapes the wound â a steady rhythm, a tender lullaby.Â
Faintly, he remembers his training. Thereâs a guidebook to situations like this, grounding techniques he should make use of, ways to bring himself back into reality.Â
And he tries, he really does, but all he can focus on is the feeling of his arm slung over Balianâs shoulder, of the quiet joy in his heart that, this time, his partner doesnât move away, doesnât run from his touch as if his skin is covered in thorns. The air is getting chilly â or is the chill within his bones? He isnât sure anymore, but itâs fine, heâs fine, because the point of contact between him and Balian is warm, warmer than anything heâs known, like the fireplace at the lodge they stayed at during that one assignment in Maine during the dead of winter. The time they huddled under blankets in front of the flames while he told ghost stories that Bal only rolled his eyes at.Â
He wonders if Icarus had regretted flying into the sun at all, because he thinks that he would be be okay with falling into the ocean, as long as he can savor this warmth for a few more heartbeats.Â
But then the sun disappears and he feels himself resting on a solid surface that no longer smells of pine and dew and too many words choked down, too many feelings splintered and hidden away.Â
Confusion. A low rumble underneath him. A car engine? He canât tell.Â
He remembers the time he almost drowned. He had been four, having seen an indoor pool for the first time. And without thinking, heâd jumped, forgetting that he didnât know how to swim. Everything had felt heavy. Time didnât seem to exist, not really, and all he could really do was watch as his arms struggled to move, helpless against the weight of the water.Â
But then, another arm. Familiar, safe, and reaching for him.Â
Except this time, it is Balianâs voice that pulls him out of the water.Â
Familiar, but not always safe. Filled with rising panic.Â
Teddy tries to focus on his surroundings, moving to get a better view. Except now, the initial shock is starting to wear off, and moving hurts. Breathing hurts. He groans softly, pressing on his wound. At least, the pain brings clarity. They are in Balianâs car. Heâd gotten shot. They are heading toâÂ
âNo,â he rasps, clenching his teeth against the sharp stab in his torso as he reaches for Balian, trying to get his attention. âNot the hospital. Please.âÂ
The hospital. The hospital and its stark white walls and sterile beds and fluorescent lighting. The hospital, where heâll be poked and prodded and wheeled while doctors in white lab coats run tests and inject him with liquids that force his lids to close. Just like the Institute. No, he isnât going back. He wonât. Itâs suddenly hard to breathe and he clutches Balâs shirt, if only to have something solid to hold onto.Â