tampered | (no subject)

When; Monday, Dec. 8th
Rating; PG-13 for violence and language
Characters; Eden Mac Cionaoith

eiremagic and Kyle Brooks

justashow
Summary; Eden's cursed to a day that she'd rather not believe happened, and Kyle's the unfortunate bystander.
Log;

Eden was running. She knew that they were right after her; Belfast was dirty and cold and bombed out and she knew the streets better than anyone. But she couldn't lose them, and she didn't know why, and she didn't dare invoke her runes, not where people could watch, not when it was so cold and blood loss was probable. So she ran as fast as her boots could take her, right into an open square.

It was a bad idea but it was the only one she had, the only one that she could even fathom working. Even when there was violence in the streets and people dying and bombs going off, fools still came, fools still came to see or hear or witness and Eden didn't care as long as no one got in her way.

She saw the man No, stop, this isn't happening now, this happened before, stopstopstop with bags in one hand, and her own hand went to the handgun she had in her hand; she was small but she could move, and with a gun people usually didn't argue. She grabbed him by the arm and pressed the gun up against his neck. "Don' move, boyo. Just stay still, don' fuckin' move."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's a boy's name," she said mechanically, looking around for a dropped phone, and not finding it - there was too much panic. She took out her phone and handed it to him. "Here. Use mine, I never use the bloody thing."

She pulled him closer. "I can lift yeh. I'm stronger than I look, just lean on me, I'll get yeh to the 'ospital," she told him, taking a step. "Don' worry. Yeh'll be okay."

He took the phone and stared at it a few minutes before registering that he actually needed to dial a number. And then he couldn't remember what Ianto's number was. It had been in his phone's address book.

Finally, Kyle gave up trying to remember and just punched in a general text to the Network. It would have to do.

The girl took another step with him and Kyle groaned as the movement pulled at the fabric of his jacket.

"I'm sure you're very butch and everything..." He swayed against her, almost knocking them both over. "But I'm not going to...be all here soon. And I think I might squash you."

Normally if someone she was carrying called her butch, she would have dropped them like a hot pan. This one she didn't drop, but she did set him down. "Alright, alright. Yeh want me to stay?" She didn't want to stay - her instinct was to run, but she didn't run, either. She waited, instead. "Yeh want to bleed out here? I'll leave yeh to it, too."

There was an edge of hysteria to her voice.

Maybe it was because she was young and reminded him of Dawn. Or maybe he was just loopy from shock, whichever the case, something about her panic made him want to soothe her.

He waited until she set him down and then reached out with his good arm to pat her shoulder.

"It's okay," he murmured. "I called 'anto. He'll come. But maybe you shouldn't stick around. He'll be grumpy that I got injured."

And he tried to offer a reassuring smile.

"Curses, right?" At least, he hoped it was a curse. If she'd stuck around this long afterwards, it wasn't likely she'd been planning on shooting him in the first place.

She nodded, carefully, shaking a little. She tied the sweater tight, pulling it so it wouldn't loosen. "If yeh're sure." She took a deep breath. "Just. Don'...promise yeh'll call if they don' show up?"

Not like she was going far. She stood and shook, watching him. "Curse," she reassured him, and ran into an alley, lifting herself to the fire escape where she could see him. She remembered, barely, to pick up her gun as she ran.

He winced at the impromptu tourniquet but didn't complain, holding the arm still for her while she worked.

Then he promised to call if no one showed, even though he was absolutely certain it wouldn't be necessary. He had called Ianto, afterall.

He watched her flee the scene and contemplated lying down, but thought better of it. He sat instead, trying to hold his arm up as much as he could, and to stay conscious until help arrived.