My body is weak, exhaustion pulling at my eyes, but I manage to keep them open.
My now short hair kisses my cheeks and I wish I could bring a hand to move it out of my face, but they lay bound on the table.
"You're awake."
I startle at the sound and focus on Archer as much as I can, my bruised cheek scrapes against the metal table I'm strapped to.
My shoulder blades scream at the movement, my neck stiffening.
He leans forward against the wall, his bruised face, and arms on show. The rope wrapped around him tightening painfully with the movement. He sits on the floor, blood thick in his hair, darkening the strands to an auburn.
"Are you okay?" I whisper back, throat aching.
He shakes his head, looking at me incredulously, "Holland." He whispers, "I don't care about me right now."
"Archer." I whisper and he looks at me. He tries to hide it, but I can see the pain in his eyes. "I'm made of some tough stuff; it's going to take more than a few wounds to kill me."
His eyes linger on my back, the pain in the honeyed depths unmistakable. He tries to smirk, his bloodied brow lifting, "You're too stubborn to die."
I scoff a tired laugh, my eyes closing. "Exactly."
I breathe out slowly, exhaustion pulling at me once more before I force my eyes open to look at him, my gaze travelling over his body. Bruises and blood seeming to materialise everywhere my eyes travel.
"What did they do to you?" It comes out as a whisper but in the silence of the room it's not hard for him to catch.
"Are you worried about me, Sarge?" His lips lift in a smirk, the sight odd with the split lip, but still my stomach dips.
"No." I let my lips form the words but by the way his eyes wrinkle at the corners, he knows the truth.
"Liar." He breathes the word, head falling back to rest against the wall, his eyes closing before they open once more and scan my wounds.
My eyes flicker over his face as his continue their exploration of my injuries. My shoulders ache with pain when I move my face slightly to check the rest of his body from my spot, sweeping over his bloodied shirt.
My eyes start to close.
"Sarge?" His voice is quiet, almost begging. "Keep your eyes on me."
I flick my attention to him, humming, my voice soft. "Okay."
Even as I try, my eyes beg to close, to shut off.
"Holland."
Again I look to him, blinking.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, the words rough.
The words have me keeps my my eyes open, "You aren't the one carving me up." The words come out slowly, the act of speaking too much.
He doesn't reply, letting the silence linger. The ropes stretch against his skin as he scoots further away from the wall he was leaning against.
"For not being able to stop her."
I look at the ropes bound tightly around him, "What could you do, glare her to death?"
He shakes his head, mirth evident in his facial expression despite the situation we're in.
"If you hadn't followed me, I'd probably be here alone." I whisper into the following silence.
He's silent for a few seconds. "I'm glad you're not alone."
