Title: Just a Slightly More Dramatic Note (epilogue)
Fandom: Life on Mars (UK)
Word Count: 643
Notes: This one's just text, but Ferntree and I felt this part should be included, and that this was possibly the only way to do it.
Also, if you've somehow come upon this unawares, there are two parts before this. The second is rather important to understanding this one, since this happens to be an epilogue and all. Links are in the description if you're interested.
Warnings: Violence, blood, angst (are those really warnings with this fandom, though?)
The plywood shakes as he falls against it, and there's no time for this, the stupid bastard's probably already out the door and rushing toward his death while Sam's still trying to get himself off the damn floor.
He grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, propelling himself the few steps across the room. He reaches out with both hands and once one of them gets the right doorknob he's off, turning right and lurching forward as quickly as he can manage without falling over.
He doesn't get far before the, deep, sudden boom of a single gunshot echoes down the corridor. He was sort of expecting it, but that doesn't stop him from jerking sideways, hitting his already-battered shoulder against a wall with a short gasp.
It should hurt more to run like this. Actually it shouldn't be physically possible, but his whole body's humming with shock and the pain seems to have tucked itself into a dim little corner of his mind, so he keeps going. He's not sure whether the sprint lasts seconds or years before he finds Gene. His Guv's curled up on the floor, folded in on himself while the masked guard sprawled next to him's sitting up, fumbling to get his gun turned around and nearly has the barrel at Gene's temple. Sam hasn't slid to a halt in astonishment, isn't gaping at the scene in shock and fear he's still caught in that strange mental time warp that happens when you mix adrenaline and extreme action sequences, so he's taken less than a second to take it all in, has less time than that to do something so he goes with his gut, transforms his speed into a flying rugby tackle. They hit the floor with a thump, a crack and an instant of blinding pain, swiftly ignored in favour of grabbing the man's head and slamming it into the tile as many times as it takes before the rage fades.
Sam rolls away, keeping his eyes off the limp figure as he levers himself upward. He sits back on his heels, one arm curled absently around his torso, and frowns at the blood spreading over Gene's shirt. He needs to put pressure on that, Sam thinks, and opens his mouth to say so but all that comes out is an empty, airless wheeze. He tries for a breath, tries again, and the adrenaline has only begun to fade but as his grip tightens around himself there's a bright white flash of pain. Knowledge from old first-aid courses clicks into understanding, but for once doesn't really help much.
Sam looks up, focuses. Gene sits back against the wall, taking slow, shallow breaths and frowning, blood dripping from his shirt onto the floor while he gives Sam an intent, interrogation-room stare. Sam stares back a moment before dropping to his knees and half-crawling over, picking up Gene's hands and pressing them over the damn bullet hole himself.
He stares as the blood leaks between their fingers, blinks slowly and tries to press down harder as the world starts to swirl around him. His chest heaves uselessly, and the moments blur into one another.
The sounds of the gunfight in the distance are drowned out by the rumble of a voice by his ear, quiet and gravelled with pain. The shoulder beneath his cheek is warm, so Sam turns his face into it and listens. He can't listen for long, though. No matter how loud the voice gets, or how tight the arm around his shoulders, all sensation's soon buried in the other noise.
The slow, steady beeping gets louder, faster, beating out of time to the pulse jumping wildly under his ear. Eventually it, too, fades into a faint, drawn out wail, and then into nothing at all. But that's okay.
Sam doesn't really notice, anyway.