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"Oh," Bilbo stares numbly down at the blood suddenly seeping from his stomach. He looks up at the sound of footsteps; the mugger that had shot him is running away. Didn’t even take my wallet, Bilbo thinks numbly, and then, oh, SHIT, that hurts. He stumbles against the wall of the alley, hand pressed to his stomach and knees crumpling beneath him.
For several seconds, all he can focus on is the pain, twisting and yanking, leaving him gasping for breath. His mind is running at a thousand miles an hour, thinking about everything he has to do, everything he should have done, what should he do now, what will happen.
Call for help, you idiot, he tells himself. Shakily, he pulls out his phone and dials.
"What’s your emergency?" the operator at the other end of the line asks.
Bilbo quickly tells her that he’s been shot, where he is, no, there’s no one around him, yes, he’s bleeding badly, in the stomach. It isn’t until he hears the sharp intake of breath from the other line that he truly begins to panic.
"Someone’s coming to get you, alright? I need you to stay on the line with me. Can you do that?" the operator says, voice deceptively calm. Bilbo freezes in fear as his vision begins to fade before coming back - and he knows. He knows by the operator’s voice, by the numbness that is spreading from his abdomen along with hot, dark blood, by the breath that is coming short and fast through his mouth. He hangs up, cutting off the operator's voice, and shakily presses numbers, holding the phone up to his ear.
"Bilbo?" Thorin’s voice sounds confused, but blessedly calm.
"Thorin," Bilbo breathes, grateful that he answered. "I just…I was wondering what you were doing."
"I’m at lunch. Bilbo are you alright? You sound like you’re in pain."
"Yes, I’m fine," he forces his voice to even out. "I ran into the counter, that’s all."
There are a few seconds of silence, a few seconds in which Bilbo’s vision blurs and darkens, fading in and out. Sounds are getting muffled, every noise muting except the steady breathing at the other end. Say something! he orders himself.
"Bilbo, is there-"
"I should have figured you were at lunch, I mean, it’s that time of day, right?" Bilbo quickly starts, recognizing the babble that is about to come. "I guess I just, mmph, wanted to hear your voice.”
"Jeez, Bilbo, put an ice pack on it, if it hurts so much—" and Bilbo wants to laugh hysterically, but he doesn’t— "And anyway, you know you’d only have to wait a few more hours. Or had you already forgotten?"
Right. Valentine’s Day. Thorin is planning on taking him out - though he refuses to tell him where.
"C’mon, Thorin, please tell me. You know how I hate surprises.” He keeps up the charade - has to keep up the charade. He doesn’t want Thorin to see, doesn’t want his last memories of his wonderful boyfriend to be a panicked, grieving voice. We just started, he thinks.
"Not a chance. You’ll just have to wait and see."
"Damnit, Thorin, I love you, but you’re no better than your nephews, however much you claim otherwise."
A pause as Thorin processes what Bilbo had said. “You love me?”
And now he laughs. He laughs and laughs, and the tears streaming down his face are as much from pain and fear as they are from this hysterical amusement. How had it taken so long to come to this point? Why had he waited?
"Yes, Thorin, I love you," he says, putting as much emphasis as he can behind the words. When will he ever have the chance to say them again? Why hadn’t he said it sooner? Now he has this one time. A few seconds, a few minutes, maybe. His hand trembles with the energy it takes to press the phone to his ear. So little time to give Thorin a lifetime of kisses, of scalp massages, of ‘good morning’s beneath the blankets, of ice cream and movies; of ‘I love you’s.
"I love you, Thorin, God, I do. You’re stubborn and arrogant and pigheaded and secretive, but you’re also the sweetest dweeb I’ve ever met, and I’m so damn lucky to have you,” for as long as I did.
"…Damnit, Bilbo, you can’t just say stuff like that, Valentine’s Day or not. I’m cancelling our plans. A night in sounds better to me, don’t you think?” Thorin’s voice turns sly at the last sentence.
Bilbo huffs another laugh, imagining the blankets Thorin would lay out in front of a crackling fire. “It sounds wonderful.”
He can hear sirens now, coming closer and closer. His eyes had closed at some point, and he does not bother to open them. “Thorin,” he says, voice small and frightened. He cannot hide, not any longer.
"Bilbo?"
"I…" and one, final flare of courage. "I tell you I love you, and all you say is that you’re cancelling plans I never even knew the details of, you twat."
"Bilbo, I can’t hear you that well…Are those sirens? Bilbo?"
"Yes, Thorin, they’re sirens," he says in a tired voice. He’s so tired, maybe if he could sleep…
"Bilbo? Bilbo!" And now Thorin’s voice is tinged with panic, and getting louder and louder - at least, Bilbo thinks it is. Everything sounds so far away.
"It’s okay, Thorin. The paramedics are here."
He can feel it, the last bit of strength fading. He had held on so long, hadn’t he? Long enough to say…well, not everything. But everything he needed to say.
Blurry shapes are rushing toward him, their outlines fusing with the sky. Bilbo is fairly certain that they are shouting, though everything is muted. But even as his vision darkens, one last time, he can still hear the man he loves.
"Bilbo, please, stay. Please don’t go. Bilbo, please, please, I love you, too. I love you, I love you, I love you. Please, Bilbo…"
Thorin’s voice fades as Bilbo’s hand falls slowly to his side.