pokebox | LAST WORDS - LOCKED TO alchemicals

LAST WORDS - LOCKED TO alchemicals

[Kimbley had left his pocket watch. It wouldn't have been as bad if the watch hadn't been prepared with the Philosopher's Stones Tucker had been given. At least Kimbley took the chimeras with him - but they were created by Tucker...]

[He's been worrying all night. "I'll return by morning." The sun's nearly up. It's far too early for them to invade, Archer knows that. There's no reason for him to prepare the troops this early. That hasn't stopped him. The first rays of light are beginning to show when he enters the city, gun drawn.]

[It's possible that Kimbley is just having fun, that he's genuinely not in any danger. It's possible, but not likely. He was sent in here on the Furher's direct orders; that alone is enough to warrant worry. Why would the Fuhrer select Kimbley for a job like this? He's been in prison for ten years; he's not exactly the best alchemist they have here. Mustang would have been better suited, right?]

[There's no point worrying about it now. He's here; he can provide backup and support for Kimbley now.]

Kimbley! ...Where the fuck is he?

[Archer has left the majority of the troops behind; the few soldiers who are tailing him have been left behind in the city already. He's focused solely on that damn alchemist now. He had better be fine.]

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[This was supposed to be easy - show up in the town, raise a little hell, kill a few people. He'd practically been given permission by the Fuhrer to have fun with this, for crying out loud, and as empty as this city had turned out to be, the chimeras hadn't even been necessary.

The night had been half-over before that had really started to seem strange. It was possible that the people in the town had been jumpy, that they'd gotten out once the tanks showed up and a heavier military presence had really gotten itself moving. Maybe that's why there was no one in the streets; they had reason to be afraid, right? Of course they did! So it was only after Kimbley had hit one of the more central districts and people actually had engaged him in combat - mostly guys, a few idiots thinking they were brave, trying to meet him on even ground only to get caught up in the blasts ripping up the streets - that it really started to feel wrong.

If those in Liore were willing to fight back...

He didn't have much time to dwell on it; the rest of his evening had been given to Scar.]

C'mon, c'mon...fuck are you...

[Kimbley doesn't know what happened to the walking scrap heap, as he'd lost Alphonse a while back. He doesn't think he's managed to kill him; his priorities had been elsewhere for once. He's got temporary cover for now, his back pressed against one of the crumbling walls, his palms flattened against the concrete while he catches his breath, inhaling so jaggedly that he's certain Scar could hear from the next city block over; a quick glance upward lets him know it's a load-bearing wall, affecting enough of the aluminoferrite should bring it down...the calculations are quick in his head, almost unconscious, and he's already decided what he's going to do and exactly how he's going to do it by the time Scar shows up.

He doesn't see him, but he can hear him; Scar's entered that open intersection between the streets, and Kimbley's pressing his palms back against the wall before running like hell again. The reaction should be slow enough to be disorienting, causing enough of a distraction to let Kimbley get some cover and try to take Scar down from a different direction. This entire battle has been an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object; Kimbley's getting sick of it.

The sun's coming up, and he thinks he can hear someone yelling, but he's hardly thinking about that now; he's actually surprised to see that the diversion tactic worked worth a damn - the explosion goes off, the wall comes down...and, for a moment, so does Scar's guard.

The next procedure is quick, something so easily done it's practically instinct by now - alteration of blood, of iron and water, the conversion into nitroglycerin starving the tissue of oxygen and killing it, turning it black; he'll be a bomb before long, and when Kimbley lets go of his wrist he's more than satisfied with his work.

This had worked out better than he'd thought - he'd carried out his assignment and he'd taken out the terrorist that'd been causing them so many problems. Kimbley doesn't even remember the guy, not really; he remembers marking someone up but not destroying him, and he supposes it could have been this one - what he'd done had definitely been enough to warrant calling the guy "Scar" from then on, if the guy had lived - but he doesn't remember his face.

...the next thing Scar does ensures that even if Kimbley never really remembers his face, he's definitely going to remember something. Most likely how much of a crazy bitch he is.

He blows his own goddamn arm off.]

...you can't be fucking serious.

[It would be hard to miss that explosion. Archer jumps; he's not used to seeing Kimbley explode things, he's used to cleaning up afterwards. It's a safe distance away at least - the last thing he needs is to be taken out by Kimbley of all damn people. Archer immediately starts toward the explosion.]

[It's as he's traversing the streets that something strikes him as horribly wrong. There's no one here. Logically he shouldn't be able to make his way through Liore as easily as he has been - he should have required those snipers to ensure he wouldn't get hurt. Where is everyone? Kimbley couldn't possibly have killed everyone. There aren't any bodies anywhere for one thing. It certainly looks like Kimbley has been having fun, but... Where the hell is everyone?]

[That's not important now. He finally locates the alchemist - there's only one man who would wear his hair in such a ridiculous fashion. Archer's sure it's Kimbley, even though he's behind him and can't get a good look at his face. There's someone else there - Archer can't tell just who it is from this far away. They're probably not a threat. Just someone else for Kimbley to toy with.]

Kimbley!

[There's something about the fight-or-flight reaction that's always seemed on the verge of malfunctioning entirely with Kimbley; he can feel the adrenaline, the chemical energy flowing through his system almost to the point of overloading him, but for a brief moment he freezes, trying to figure out what the fuck he just witnessed and exactly what that's going to mean for him, and before he can really stop himself he's doing some bizarre combination of preparing to fight and running like hell, activating his arrays as he turns and trying to get some idea of the materials in the area as he puts some distance between Scar and himself...

...and as he does so, his gaze falls upon a familiar shock of blue against the brown-and-gray of Liore; an Amestrian military uniform, and a familiar voice catching his attention, and he isn't supposed to be here - ]

Archer...?

[He isn't sure what makes him do it; if he were a more duty-bound person, it might have been an unwillingness to draw an obvious enemy toward his commanding officer. Were he more noble, perhaps an unwillingness to draw an obvious enemy toward the closest thing he has to a friend. It's far more likely that the unexpectedness of Archer's presence simply startles him; either way, he freezes. Hesitates long enough for Scar to close proximity between them and press his good hand against Kimbley's back.

He doesn't feel the injury itself. He can hear some sort of sound that he can't quite place - tearing, perhaps, though it's heavier than that, sending an odd, reverberating shudder through his system; he's vaguely aware that there's blood, a lot of it. He's not thinking clearly enough to realize just yet that Scar hit him in the back, he probably shouldn't be seeing blood...

He drops to the ground; getting up isn't an option just yet - somewhere in there he knows better, but for now, that's how he's going to think of it. It's not an option. Yet.]

[Kimbley looks confused as hell when he turns, but that's really not all that surprising. Archer's not supposed to be here until much later. It doesn't matter now, though. Kimbley's safe. He's fine. There's no need to worry.]

[That thought lasted for about five seconds. Then Scar showed up.]

[He doesn't realize just who it is at first - he's behind Kimbley and Archer's not focusing on him until suddenly Kimbley's bleeding fucking everywhere and what the fuck was that sound...? He doesn't want to know. For a moment Archer stands there in silence, eyes wide, refusing to accept what just happened.]

[But he's always had decent reflexes - they just don't always work in the way they should. He doesn't think twice before raising the pistol and emptying it into Scar's body. His aim is shaky, but Scar goes down anyway. He's missing an arm as it is - he wouldn't have lived for long anyway.]

[Archer stands there for a moment, shaking. That didn't just happen. That didn't just happen. Finally he holsters the gun, and starts toward Kimbley. He's never had any issues with blood - not that he's seen much to begin with - but looking at whatever the fuck Scar did to Kimbley's back is making him sick. He crouches beside Kimbley, ignoring the blood that's fucking everywhere.]

...Kimbley? Come on, Kimbley. Get up. That's an order.

[His voice is shaking badly and he knows it. That didn't just happen. If that did just happen then-- No. Kimbley will be okay. He'll be fine. There's no way he could die now.]

[The sound of gunshots isn't enough to startle him, even in such close proximity; his time in Ishbal has rendered him generally unafraid of anything short of heavy-artillery fire, and even then it's less genuine fear and more wariness. His attention, then, is given to existing, to forcing his body to work through the shallowness of his breathing and the strange, pulsing pain settling in - it comes in waves, mostly taking the form of an odd, dull ache starting at the core of his system and radiating outward, occasionally spiking into something sharp and searing and, even though it's counterintuitive as hell, just making him all the more determined to beat this.

He knows he's not going to, but it's a nice thought. "Do not go quietly" and all that good shit.

Archer's voice next to him is unexpected - he didn't hear Archer approach him, didn't really hear anything after the gunshots, he isn't focusing too well - but it really isn't unwelcome; he braces his forearm against the ground, pushing himself up just a bit, though he keeps his gaze focused downward.]

...still...giving orders, huh?

[He's having obvious difficulty speaking, the words forced out between shakily-drawn breaths; he doesn't sound distressed, though - if anything, his tone is closer to darkly amused.]

I...sorry, but I don't...know how well I can comply. You understand...right...?

[Archer isn't sure what to do - Kimbley's obviously trying to move and hell, he ordered him to, but from the look of that injury, it's better to keep him in place until a doctor can look at him.]

[...If he's alive by the time a doctor can get here.]

[Of course he'll still be alive! It's Kimbley. He's not going to die now. Archer nods slightly at Kimbley's words, not quite taking them in or really recognizing what he's saying, instead trying to figure out some way to at least stop the bleeding for the time being. It shouldn't take long for the soldiers to find him; he'll send them back to get a fucking doctor from the base. Kimbley will be fine.]

[...He has to be.]

Right. Of course.

[It takes him longer than he'd like to admit - he can't think for some reason; it's as though everything has slowed down and even so he still can't keep up. Archer removes his military jacket and bundles it up, pressing it firmly against Kimbley's back with only the bare minimum for a warning,] This is going to hurt.

[The pressure will help with the blood flow from the back, hopefully. Kimbley is still pressed against the ground, so that should help with the injury in the front (how did that happen? Scar hit him in the back, why is he bleeding from the front too? Archer doesn't want to think about that for too long). This should work. Right?]

...You'll be fine.

[It's rather obvious he doesn't believe that at all.]

["Bare minimum" is right; Kimbley doesn't have time to really process what Archer's doing - taking that jacket off? why...? - before there's suddenly a lot of pressure against that spot where Scar had hit him. It hurts like a bitch, though Kimbley doesn't cry out; he does draw a breath between his teeth, however, resulting in a sharp hissing sound before he can stop himself. The arm he's got braced against the ground tenses a good amount; he lowers his head a bit, propping his forehead against the fist that hand is suddenly forming, clenched so tight that his nails are burying themselves into his palm.

He nods a bit, the motion a bit strange given his position.]

...yeah. Yeah, I'll...be fine...

[That makes two of them, then.]

[At least he doesn't complain. Kimbley probably knows better by now anyway.]

I...

[And suddenly, whatever it was he was going to say dies on him and the realization hits. Kimbley was fighting Scar (it was Scar, right?). He was running when Archer showed up and distracted him. Kimbley... froze. He froze because Archer appeared. If he hadn't...]

...I'm sorry.

[The words are soft and Archer suddenly can't look at Kimbley any longer. He's going to be fine, what the hell is he getting so worked up for? Nothing is ever his fault, why is he suddenly thinking like this?]

[Well, that's...

...that's...

Wait, what?]

...no...reason for you to be sorry, Archer. Why...?

[...Oh that's right, he's dealing with an idiot.]

I didn't mean to... distract you.

[Okay, you can put the rest together now, right?]

[Oh. Well, if you put it that way, then...]

...egotistical bastard.

[His speech is still obviously forced, a strange shallowness settling into his breathing, but his tone hasn't changed; if anything, he's teasing, a bit of a laugh beneath his words, though it isn't long before something seems to catch in his throat and he has to pause for a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

Goddamn it, Scar must have done a number on his insides.]

I...fucked up, Archer...shouldn't have frozen like that. It isn't...that's not your fault, okay?

[Archer's immediate reaction is to get defensive of all fucking things; like this is just another round of teasing. It isn't. Doesn't Kimbley get that he's dying? He won't die, of course, but...!]

...Fine. We're equally at fault. Are you happy?

[The response is sarcastic, but hardly enough to even qualify as their usual teasing anymore. If he didn't know better, he'd think Kimbley was trying to comfort him. That's ridiculous. There's no need for that anyway. He'll be fine. He has to be.]

...You left your pocket watch. How the hell did you manage to forget it?

[Might as well explain what he's doing here, right? He doesn't make a move to return it though - Kimbley's not exactly going to be able to do much with it.]

[Of course he gets it, Archer. Why do you think he's doing this in the first place? It's how he deals with shit - he simply doesn't deal with it, by any means possible.

That explanation gives him pause for a moment before he shifts a bit, looking at Archer again; he doesn't seem to know what to do with it for a moment, because for some reason it's a bit difficult to focus on what the point is.]

Yeah, I...didn't realize until I was already here...not that it matters...

[He pauses for a moment, then continues; that was...weirdly way more pessimistic than what he actually intended by that, given that he's not referring to his death - it literally wouldn't have made a difference.]

...Scar...he breaks the Stones...I don't really get how, but...he took the ring out easily, he would have broken those too...

[It wasn't all that long ago Kimbley told him about Ishbal. He killed his superior officers because he wanted to - he didn't care about the consequences. Nothing could have compared to his experience in the war. He was seventeen at the time. Kimbley had said he didn't feel like that. Why...?]

[But he elaborates before Archer can dwell on it for too long. The Stones. At least this means Kimbley wasn't trying to get himself killed...]

[...It's such a horrifying thought Archer dismisses it immediately.]

He won't be doing that again.

[If he was, he would have finished them off by now. No, Scar's dead.]

...Fine. Maybe it wouldn't have done any good.

[Archer falls silent for a moment, glancing back in the direction he came from. Where the fuck are those soldiers? Kimbley isn't going to last forever.]

...I'm going to get help. I'll be right back; there are soldiers nearby. They can get a doctor from the base. You'll be fine.

[He doesn't make any move to leave though. He doesn't really want to. What if... What if Kimbley does die while he's trying to get help?]

[It's at about that point that Kimbley realizes that he hadn't even considered the possibility that Scar might still be alive over there - that maybe Archer had paralyzed him, or he'd finally collapsed from blood loss or something...

It isn't something he's considering in all seriousness now, either, and he hadn't exactly needed the confirmation that Archer had given him. He'd simply known that Archer had killed him; Kimbley still trusts him completely.

Maybe that's why he reacts so badly to what Archer's proposing; he doesn't really know. He just knows that he doesn't want Archer to go anywhere - he reaches out abruptly, gripping Archer's wrist tightly with his free hand and pushing himself up a bit more with the other. It's not enough to push Archer off completely when it comes to the pressure he's been applying, and it's not enough to force himself entirely into a sitting position, either, but he's definitely attempting to get more on eye-level. The sudden burst of energy is unexpected, but like hell if he isn't going to use it while he can.]

...don't. We both know that...

[...isn't going to do any good.]

[Archer really shouldn't be surprised. Of course Kimbley is still capable of movement - his grip is still remarkably strong for someone so tiny. The words don't surprise him any, and he responds immediately.]

Don't. You'll be fine. I promise.

[He's never lied to Kimbley. This certainly isn't the first time he's lied to himself, however.]

[Archer once again hesitates, not sure if he should push Kimbley back to the ground. Kimbley isn't quite sitting up and moving him is out of the question, but Archer pulls him forward anyway, wrapping his arms tightly around the alchemist.]

You'll be fine.

[Normally, Kimbley balks a bit at physical contact; at the very least, he usually freezes up, hesitant to accept or encourage things like that. Non-destructive touch isn't something he's used to; if he's touching someone else it's usually for the sake of rearranging something about their body's chemical composition in some sort of incredibly nasty way.

The only real exception to this has been with Archer.

He allows himself to be pulled forward, though he does move a bit once Archer's holding him, adjusting so that he can lean a bit more fully against Archer's body; he returns the embrace after a moment, though he kind of hates how doing that really just makes him all the more aware of the fact that he's shaking.]

...hey, come on...you...always keep your promises, Archer.

[And even though his words are back to that darkly amused tone, his voice is shaking badly as well.]

Don't start...making ones you're going to have to break.

[Archer has known Kimbley for nearly a year. He's never once seen Kimbley afraid. It takes him a moment to realize why Kimbley's voice sounds odd, or why he would be shaking in the first place.]

[Kimbley's just as afraid as he is. Maybe he's not afraid of death (he's certainly said as much before), but something about this isn't sitting right with him either. Archer's grip tightens once Kimbley gets comfortable. He's fully aware that Kimbley's bleeding on him. He doesn't care at this point.]

Don't... Don't say that. You will be fine.

[Archer's trying to control his voice. He's failing miserably. He can't lose Kimbley. What... What the fuck will he do without him?]

You know I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. You still trust me, right? You'll be fine.

[Maybe one of them will actually believe it if he keeps repeating it.]

Trust you...?

[Kimbley laughs a bit at that, though the sound is far from cruel; if anything, it's weirdly affectionate, almost as though wondering why Archer would even ask that in the first place, the answer is so obvious.]

Yeah...yeah, I trust you...always have.

[Kimbley's never been one to completely disregard reality, though; his urge is to argue against what Archer is saying again, despite the fact that he trusts him. But as he leans forward into that tightening grip Archer has against him and rests his head against the other man's shoulder, he knows that he won't; Kimbley has always had a bit of a talent for knowing what others like to hear, even if he chooses to ignore it in favor of doing whatever the hell he wants most of the time. He's been around Archer for almost a year now; he's almost always aware of what Archer is thinking and feeling, and what sort of things he needs to hear.

As little as Kimbley really wants Archer to keep insisting that he'll be fine when they both know that he won't, he knows that Archer needs the lie.

His grip tightens suddenly against Archer's clothes; another spike of pain courses through his system, drawing another of those sharp breaths, and it takes him a while to relax again. Longer than it should.]

...Bradley...owes me such a fucking promotion after this...

[The laughter nearly causes him to get defensive, but Archer realizes that it's not cruel after a moment. This is normally about the time when he'd be getting flustered as fuck - but this isn't exactly a normal situation, now is it?]

[He's perfectly content to hug Kimbley for the time being, reaching one hand up to play with Kimbley's hair. The gesture is familiar and comforting despite how strange their situation now is. ]

[But then Kimbley's in pain and the illusion is broken. It hurts more than it has any right to; Kimbley is the one bleeding to death, not Archer. Still, he can't hide just how relieved he is when Kimbley finally relaxes again.]

...I know. I'll make sure you receive one.

[He returns to playing with Kimbley's hair; hopefully it will serve as a distraction from the pain for the both of them.]

...good.

[The gesture really is a nice one; Kimbley has always enjoyed having his hair played with, and even though the pain isn't subsiding any, there's something calming about how familiar and normal that action is. He nuzzles into Archer's shoulder a bit without really deciding to do so; the response comes easily, instinctive, but it's weak just the same.

He's going to die.

The idea presents itself fully now, as a cold, rational fact as opposed to a possibility to be averted; there's no way around it. Never has been. Even if Archer were to find those soldiers he had come into Liore with, from the sound of it they didn't have medical support in the city itself; the base was a good distance away from here, there wouldn't be enough time.

Kimbley has never seen death as something to be feared, and he still doesn't; in some ways, the knowledge that his death is a certainty is a good thing. There's no wondering anymore, no questioning whether they'll be found before it's too late, whether they'll even be able to save him or whether they might as well shoot him and get it over with. He's going to die, and it's going to be in the presence of someone who actually gave enough of a damn to try to comfort him before he goes. Someone he considers his best friend.

It's not ideal - ideal would be not dying, period, after all - but all things considered, it's pretty damn close.]

Archer...

[He doesn't finish, his grip tightening involuntarily through pain; though he manages to stifle back the urge to start with any sort of coughing fit, his body shudders deeply with the effort, and he's suddenly very aware of the taste of blood in his mouth. His breathing is shallow, and he doesn't seem able to relax any; he's vaguely aware of the thought It's almost over before he dismisses it abruptly.

As much as it's a certainty, that doesn't mean he has to like it.]

[The realization hasn't hit Archer yet - or maybe it has and he's just content to block it out. Either way, he doesn't pay much attention to just how weak the gesture is. Kimbley's just losing a lot of blood. He'll be fine. He'll be fine.]

[Suddenly Kimbley's clinging to him and Archer doesn't know what to do. He has to pause for a moment to make sure he's not crushing Kimbley; the urge to latch on and never let go has never been stronger. He's not sure what to do outside attempt to reassure Kimbley that everything will be fine.]

...I know it must hurt. Is there... anything I can do for you, Kimbley?

[Kimbley shakes his head a bit, twitching sharply as he does so; he knows Archer probably won't like that answer, but no...no, there really isn't.]

...thanks.

[The word is quiet, but it's clear that he's trying not to sound too weak in front of Archer; there are still definite traces of his usual light tone in his voice, even though he sounds tired as hell.]

For...not leaving earlier.

[No, of course there isn't. He's useless.]

[It isn't very often that Archer actually blames himself. There really is no denying that he's at least partially at fault for this. No, there was no way for him to stop Kimbley from entering the city at all - Kimbley couldn't disobey a direct order from the Fuhrer regardless of what Archer said. It's only now that he's realizing just how useless he really is here.]

...Okay. Let me know if you need anything.

[Kimbley's words earn a blank stare for a moment. Leaving? Why the hell would he leave? To get medical attention for Kimbley, obviously, but even that wouldn't be for long. Archer returns to playing with Kimbley's hair while he thinks.]

I won't leave you. You don't need to worry about that.

...okay.

[It's all he can really think to say; words aren't coming very easily anymore. The realization hits him that he's exhausted, that he can't...do this for much longer; it would be remarkably easy to close his eyes and let himself rest - at the same time, he knows that if he does that, he won't wake up from it.

His grip loosens a bit from the tight hold he'd been keeping against Archer's clothes; he can feel himself leaning a bit more heavily against Archer's body, though he shifts a bit before becoming still again. He's still breathing, but even that seems to be slowing down a bit, the time between breaths drawn growing longer before suddenly picking up again, rapid and shallow.

He doesn't have long.]

[That's when it hits him. Kimbley isn't going to get through this. There's absolutely no way he could be saved at this point.]

[His response is immediate. He starts shrieking.]

Don't you fucking dare die on me, Kimbley! I went through all this trouble to get you reinstated, promoted, and cleared of your criminal record and this is how you repay me!? Don't die on me!

[The sudden shouting does seem to rouse Kimbley a bit, and his grip tightens a little again; he doesn't respond verbally, though that doesn't mean he won't respond at all.

He's never been one to offer comfort to others; both of them are fully aware of that. At the same time, this has been one of the things that confuses him most about his relationship with Archer - as much as he considers everyone to be bomb materials and nothing more, he's never liked seeing Archer hurt or upset. He can't remove the source of the issue here; there's nothing to be done about that, especially not now. But he'll do what he can - right now, that's pretty much limited to shifting position a little and nuzzling into Archer's shoulder again, but he imagines it's better than nothing...]

[It's a lot better than nothing, but Archer's not thinking about it like that. He's used to getting some sort of response out of Kimbley, even if it is a snarky remark that will only serve to irritate him further. He's not getting anything verbally, clearly this is worse than he thought.]

What the fuck am I supposed to do without you, Kimbley? Answer me! I can't accomplish anything without your help and you fucking know it! You can't die on me now...!

[Archer's grip tightens and suddenly he's very glad Kimbley can't get a good look at him right now. He's shaking badly enough as it is, but this would be even worse if Kimbley could see him.]

[He's crying.]

[Archer can't even remember the last time he cried. He stops screaming; the abrupt jagged breathing is indication enough that something is off, but he's trying to control that too. He doesn't need Kimbley to know just how badly this is hurting him. He shouldn't be this bothered.]

[...But of course he is. He's always had a soft spot for Kimbley. He's never understood why or how it developed, but Kimbley has always been different. Archer couldn't care less about anyone else. If this were anyone else, he wouldn't care. But it's Kimbley. What the hell is he supposed to do after Kimbley...?]

[Kimbley can still hear him, he understands the words, but it's in a way that feels incredibly distant - it feels like there's some sort of thick fog between Archer and himself that he's hearing all of this through, almost like he's listening in on some sort of bizarre one-sided conversation between Archer and someone else entirely; he knows that isn't the case, that he's dying and Archer's upset because he's dying, but there's such a large chasm between the feeling and the knowing that he doesn't even know where to start when it comes to crossing it.

Kimbley can feel Archer shaking, as well as the strange, shuddering breaths coming from him; while he doesn't exactly realize that Archer is crying, he knows that there are a lot of things that he probably should tell him. The two that come immediately to mind are lies - "it'll be okay" when it won't, and "I'm sorry" when he's not. The latter is a bit more true than the former; he's kind of sorry for all this shit happening, but he isn't sorry about anything that's led up to it. The time he's spent with Archer since getting out of prison isn't anything he's going to regret; regretting this is regretting everything that led up to it.

He's not sorry.

For a long moment he's almost entirely unresponsive, his breathing the only indication that his body hasn't completely given out; he isn't sure what makes him decide that what he does end up doing is a good idea. It's entirely possible that blood loss is rendering him completely delirious; either way, it just feels like something he...needs to do, so he does it.

He turns his head a bit from where he's been nuzzling into Archer's shoulder, and begins laying kisses against Archer's neck.

The motion is soft, weak; he knows it's entirely possible that Archer won't even realize what he's doing...but it doesn't really matter at this point, anyway, does it? The initial gesture is tentative, though he repeats it a couple of times before stopping, resting his head back against Archer's shoulder and closing his eyes.

Goddamn it...]

[Like Kimbley, physical contact isn't something Archer is used to. Casual touch has never been something he's engaged in. Everything changed with Kimbley. He's not sure why, but Kimbley's always been different. It doesn't take him long to realize what Kimbley's doing, and it's then that he begins to wonder just what the hell his relationship with Kimbley even is to make an act like this perfectly acceptable.]

[It's not something he's going to think much about now, at any rate.]

[This has brought something else entirely to his attention though. He's being selfish. That's not surprising at all - when isn't Archer selfish? - but now really isn't the time. He's not the one dying. He'll have plenty of time to worry about all of this later; Kimbley doesn't have long.]

...Sorry.

[He'll take a moment to swipe at his eyes as discretely as possible before returning to play with Kimbley's hair. It's the only thing he can think to do that will even marginally comfort the alchemist.]

I... Thanks. I'll be fine.

[That's a blatant lie. There's no sense in worrying Kimbley though; might as well try to make his passing as easy as possible, right?]

[...Dear god, everything really is different with Kimbley.]

[He'd needed to hear that.

Kimbley knows that it's probably a lie - that Archer never switches gears that quickly, especially when emotions are running high, and the only reason Archer would have to do that now would be to try to comfort him; as much as he's never really liked the idea of that sort of thing, he's starting to understand the reasoning behind why Archer had needed the lie earlier.

Kimbley knows he's going to die; he doesn't understand why he can't do it without wanting to believe that that Archer is going to be all right.

The feeling of Archer's hand playing with his hair again is soothing, however, and that gesture in combination with the fact that Archer is trying to reassure him is enough to allow Kimbley to relax. He passes out, slipping into a deep unconsciousness that he isn't going to wake up from; it doesn't take long after that for the rest of his body to shut down.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

LAST WORDS - LOCKED TO alchemicals

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