If You Must Drift

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Simon

I stop talking for a little while, resting my head on the side of Baz's gurney, my face close to his. Not caring about the Velcro that tugs at my hair and scratches at my cheek; I'm too tired to care.

My fingers gently trace his hairline, then his cheekbones, then his jaw, finally coming to rest on the back of his neck, where I rub small, comforting circles. Warming the too-cold skin.

Tears start roll down Baz's cheeks from under his swollen eyelids.

"Hey..." I murmur, stroking his hair away from his face, "shh... I've got you, Baz. I've got you..."

"I can't stay awake, Simon." His voice is a small, petrified whisper, tongue slipping from all the pain meds they're pumping into him.

"That's okay, sweet... just sleep. I'm right here. Just sleep."

"Everything hurts," he croaks out. The paramedic, sitting a few feet away, pushes a small button on Baz's IV when he hears this. But the tight pain on Baz's face doesn't ease. Can Magickally-inflicted pain be eased by Normal drugs?

On impulse, I let the little magic I have left come to the surface. Placing my hand in his, I open myself up, giving it all to him.

He sighs a little, the pain on his face easing.

"Hey, Simon?" He murmurs, and though he no longer sounds agonised, the fear in his voice stays there. There's not much I can do to help that.

"Yes, darling?" I ask softly in reply (I don't know why I never called him 'darling' before now— I'm immensely enjoying it).

"We're here!" The paramedic announces, cutting off Baz's next words.

And then the ambulance doors open, and we're surrounded by a flood of bustling people.

And then the ambulance doors open, and we're surrounded by a flood of bustling people

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Have an Agatha :)

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