Crook And Assassian

19| How To Save A Life

"There is no difference between saving lives and extending lives, because in both cases we are giving people the chance of more life."

May 2005, Central City

Leonard had always thought that dying would be...different.

For one thing, for a long time, he always thought that it'd be Lewis to get him, in the end. As he'd grown older, he sort of figured it'd be a mutual sort of thing, though: Lewis finally deciding that his son was too much competition and Leonard getting his licks in before it's done.

Maybe that's still what happened, he thinks distantly, lying in a puddle of his own blood in the alleyway, consciousness wavering as the world darkens. The dark figure who'd surprised him as he'd slipped away from casing a bank, who'd shot him in the shoulder, could have been hired by Lewis. He doesn't think so, though, for reasons he can't quite part a finger on. Doesn't really matter anyway, not at this point.

He's dying.

The quantity of blood gushing from the wound meant an artery hit. Leonard had been down on his knees from the shock of it even before the attacker had turned away, and while he'd struggled to get back up, he just couldn't do it. He'd slapped a hand to his shoulder as the pain hit, driving away speech, and watched through graying-out vision as the figure turned away rather than finish the job.

Which, frankly, said rather a lot about the confidence and the quality of the original shot to begin with. The attacker had been a professional.

He'd had to put a hand down to steady himself, then realized that arm wasn't going to hold him, not at all, and fell unceremoniously to the pavement, cheekbone hitting the ground in a way that probably hurt a good bit itself. But separating different points of pain was impossible, right then, everything subsumed in the shock and agony of the bullet wound.

His hand's still stuffed against the entry point. Distantly, Leonard knows he should keep it there, even as instinct says to try to drag himself toward the street. There's a chance someone could call an ambulance in time if he's found.

Blood's flooded over his hand, though, washing his clenched fingers in warm red, and his heart is hammering. He can't feel his feet, and it's hard to focus. No, he's not going anywhere. Except away.

Distantly, he's angry. Such an fucking ignominious way to go. And he can't tell Lisa...tell Mick...

Some part of his brain registers the footsteps that pause at the opening to the alley and then rush in. He can't see much more than vague shapes.

"Oh my god," someone breathes as they approach. A woman's voice, he thinks. Her shape suddenly looms as she goes to a knee in front of him. Small, cool fingers press against this throat, seeking a pulse, and Leonard wants to say something, to confirm that he's still in there, but he just can't quite manage it.

"Are we...are we too late?" another voice says, male this time.

The fingers are withdrawn. "He's alive."

"I'll fly him to Central City Hospital..."

"It's too late...hospital," the first voice says, fading in and out. "We have...to the ship."

Ship? Leonard tries to force his eyes open farther, but it doesn't work. The pain's more distant now. That's probably not a good thing. He's losing his grip on consciousness and probably life.

God damnit.

"...not sure how to move...things worse..."

The last words he hears are oddly clear: "If we don't get him there...it won't matter anyway."

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐖𝐞𝐛𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐞: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20343286?view_full_work=true
𝐁𝐲: Jael
𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐬: Completed
𝐋𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡: Five Chapters