idk i just wrote this because
i really wanted that hurt atlas rhys from earlier
i gotta satisfy this appetite for hurt pretty guys
It’d happened too quickly for Jack to react.
One moment he’d been following Rhys off the stage, the applause of the audience echoing in their ears as they descended down the little wooden stairs behind the curtain. It was darker in contrast to the bright stage lights, and there were too many people for him to notice the pistol whipped out and aimed right at Rhys’ head.
Screams cracked through the air moments after the the gun fired. The entire backstage area exploded with a flurry of activity. Jack’s heart leapt in his throat, his hand instinctively clamping to his holster, only for something heavy to crumple against him. It nearly knocked him over as he grabbed onto it, palms finding padded shoulders and holding them tight.
“Rhys? Rhys?” Jack shouted, his own ears ringing with screams and the vibrations of the gunshot. He couldn’t see the assailant nor any more shots, assuming they’d fled or been apprehended. Their identity didn’t matter for the time being, especially when Rhys’ head tipped back and flopped lifelessly against his shoulder, revealing a bright red hole punched into the side of his throat.
Any strength remaining in Rhys’ legs waned and he collapsed completely against Jack, his head lolling against the alpha. One of Jack’s hands left Rhys’ shoulder to desperately loop around his shoulder, getting a better grip as he sagged to his knees.
“Shit,” Jack hissed, watching blood bubble up from the omega’s wounded throat, thick and shiny even in the low light of backstage. Even with just a cursory glance, Jack could tell it wasn’t any superficial wound. The bullet hadn’t grazed him, it’d gone right through. Footsteps clumped and gathered around him, faint concern prodding at him but all he could care about in the moment was Rhys, and the way his still-pink lips tried to move around words that were more breath than sound.
Jack strained his ears, trying to listen, but all that came out of Rhys’ mouth was a dribble of blood.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and get a damn medic!” Jack finally roared back to one of the voices calling to him, causing every bystander to take a step back at the alpha’s anger. Jack quickly turned his attention back to Rhys, lifting the hand still clamped on his shoulder to cradle the back of the omega’s head head.
Rhys’ already pale skin grew whiter with each passing second as he bled out through the neck, soaking the high collar of his coat and dripped onto Jack’s hands. A couple spots made it onto the concrete floor, flecking it darker.
The tattered flesh within the wound shifted with each labored breath. Rhys’ neck now looked more red than white. Jack could see inked skin at the edges of the wound and grimly recalled Rhys’ tattoo, a pretty set of concentric circles that Jack had joked resembled a target.
Such a joke seemed less funny now.
“Hey,” Jack growled, his voice rough and crawling against his own throat. “You really going to let yourself go out like this, pumpkin? Thanks to some asshole’s bullet?” Rhys’ human eye looked flat, lacking the usual depth and intelligence, and the usual glow in his ECHO was fading.
Jack hissed, carefully laying Rhys onto the floor to free up the hand already slicked with blood. He hadn’t much medical knowledge but knew he had to staunch the bleeding until the medics arrived and shot Rhys full of Anshin.
“You were schooling me out there on the stage, you know. Like a damn orator. You had them captivated, sweetheart. Begging for more.” Jack shifted, pressing his palm down over the wound in Rhys’ throat. “Don’t leave ‘em disappointed.”
Pink blood frothed at the corner of Rhys’ lips, and Jack thought he heard a little sound, felt a little vibration underneath his slick fingers as he pressed onto the wound.
He thought it funny, almost, that after years of fantasizing how it would feel to wrap his hands around Rhys’ scrawny little neck, he now had one pressed down against his wound trying to save his life.
“Hey. Don’t frikkin do that,” Jack scowled as Rhys’ eyelids began to drift over his glassy eyes. The CEO’s typically well-kept hair flared around him like a corona, the strands near his neck sticking dark and wet with blood.
“Rhys.” Jack pressed down harder, as if he could hold Rhys’ life deep in his body with enough physical force. “Don’t go. Come on. Don’t go.”
The medics came when Rhys could only keep his eyes open a sliver, and Jack couldn’t tell if he was gone or not when they nudged him away and lifted Rhys out from under his hands. He watched as they slipped him onto a stretcher, emergency Anshin already loaded and glowing into a syringe. They rolled him off and Jack, too numb to follow, just stood, his hand coming up to cradle his face before he remembered it was still slicked with blood.
Jack didn’t know anything about flowers. He has Meg order them for him. He doesn’t know the names of the yellow and pink buds cradled in the delicate bouquet paper, but they look nice enough to the layman’s eye. He hoped Rhys would like them.
When the nurse opened the door Jack saw natural light filtering in through the slats in the windows and over the rumpled bedsheets. He poked in nervously after her, fingers gripping tight around the bouquet in his hand. His eyes quickly landed upon Rhys, tucked away in a bed near the corner of the room. He still sat surrounded by machines, but only a few still hooked up to him, feeding him fluids and monitoring his heartbeat.
Rhys turned away from the window to look at Jack when the alpha drew closer, nostrils widening at the scent. He looked more flush than the bedsheets, a lot pinker and healthier than he had been while bleeding out backstage. His hair was down and free from gel, usual primping routine shaken by the sudden hospitalization, but Jack thought it suited him. Maybe that was just because he’d never seen Rhys like that before, and much as he considered the man his rival he liked learning new things about him.
“Hey,” Jack managed as he drew close enough to Rhys’ bedside to merit speaking. “Got you these.” He awkwardly held the bouquet out to Rhys before second-guessing himself, but the omega blinked and carefully lifted his hands to cradle the flowers. His eyes fluttered closed as he sniffed them, the light puff of pollen floating in the glow of the sunshine.
Jack’s eyes fell below Rhys’ jawline to find where a medical patch lied taped against the side of his neck, the area of the wound a lot smaller than it’d seemed beneath his hands. He wondered if they’d got the Anshin in him early enough to prevent scarring and save the tattoo. And if Rhys might get a replacement if the opposite proved true.
The nurse eventually took the flowers from Rhys’ hands and placed them in a nice crystal vase by the window sill, sun silhouetted them in a comforting light. Jack sat in a chair by Rhys’ bedside, looking down at his hands when he realized the omega was watching him.
“You know…I’m…jeez, this is corny and totally not like me, but…” Jack twiddled his thumbs, picking at the bit of dried red still underneath his nail. “I…I’m really glad you’re okay, kiddo. Wouldn’t be the same without you. Whatever boring Atlas clod they’d get to replace you wouldn’t last ten minutes before I stuck a bullet in his head.”
Jack tensed at his own comment, wondering if it was way too soon to be bringing up guns and bullets around the injured CEO—but a soft noise caused him to lift his head, and once he did he could see Rhys smiling softly at him, lips parted slightly in as much a laugh as he could muster.
They moved again a moment later, mouthing something to the alpha that rung with more meaning than any sound he’d heard in ages.
Thank you, Jack.
TheSpaceCoyote 