He hadn't yet met Trish and he didn't listen to the radio often, but it was good to know Jessica had someone who cared. He'd have liked to meet her, but there were so many things he'd miss out on if he survived getting buried under rubble and dust only to die here. He'd be the last person to complain he was tired, but his movements were so sluggish, and occasionally everything would plunge into a disconcerting kind of blackness as he slipped in and out of consciousness.
"Bitches don't give away their jackets," he tried to joke. Having run out of energy and reassuring words to say, he brushed dry lips over her forehead. If he could help alleviate her loneliness in any way, she wouldn't even have to ask. If she would ever rather spend the night talking to someone like him rather than the bottom of an empty glass on a clear crisp night, he would be there for her in a heartbeat.
But maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
"They're going upstairs in two minutes," he murmured, listening to the retreating footsteps doing one last sweep of the floor before he refocused on the slow, light thumping of her heartbeat. It'd be the longest two minutes of his life. He was so tired of losing, he'd have liked to hang in there and make it out without another injury for once. His fingers twitched against her forearms as he rested his heavy head against the wall and his breathing pace evened out. He just needed to close his eyes and shut all his senses off for two minutes. Two minutes and they could get out of here. Get her a replacement camera. Have a chat over some drinks about- drinking or Mr. Cage, private investigating or law, faith or anything they wanted. Everything could go back to normal.
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"Bitches don't give away their jackets," he tried to joke. Having run out of energy and reassuring words to say, he brushed dry lips over her forehead. If he could help alleviate her loneliness in any way, she wouldn't even have to ask. If she would ever rather spend the night talking to someone like him rather than the bottom of an empty glass on a clear crisp night, he would be there for her in a heartbeat.
But maybe it just wasn't meant to be.
"They're going upstairs in two minutes," he murmured, listening to the retreating footsteps doing one last sweep of the floor before he refocused on the slow, light thumping of her heartbeat. It'd be the longest two minutes of his life. He was so tired of losing, he'd have liked to hang in there and make it out without another injury for once. His fingers twitched against her forearms as he rested his heavy head against the wall and his breathing pace evened out. He just needed to close his eyes and shut all his senses off for two minutes. Two minutes and they could get out of here. Get her a replacement camera. Have a chat over some drinks about- drinking or Mr. Cage, private investigating or law, faith or anything they wanted. Everything could go back to normal.