Work Text:
The world was spinning.
Christian Harper stumbled out of the elevator, his shoulder slamming against the door frame in a weak attempt to keep himself upright.
Just 20 minutes ago, a black SUV rammed his car off the road. There was no doubt in his mind that it had been a professional hit – fast, violent, intended to crush him and watch him burn in the metal cage of his own vehicle.
Unlucky for those who wish to see him buried 6 feet deep, Christian was hard to kill. He managed to crawl out of the smoking wreckage, his suit shredded, left arm hanging uselessly at his side as he reached for his firearm with his right, returning fire as he pulled his driver out from underneath his vehicle, the two of them just about covering a safe distance when his car exploded into a fireball.
Satisfied that his driver was not in imminent danger of dying, Christian flagged down a terrified cab driver who had slowed down in their curiosity at the scorched car in the middle of the city, telling him to drive.
Not to the hospital.
And certainly not to the cops.
If they tried to hit me, they’re going for her too.
“Stella!” he yelled out, tasting the copper in his mouth from his bleeding tongue – he must have bitten it in the crash.
He limped through their front door, a door which was dangling precariously off its hinges, still clutching his broken left arm, fighting his body to stay conscious, to not black out from the pain, nor from the blood loss from the shard of glass that was lodged deep in his side.
He rubbed at his eyes before realising that his blurry vision wasn’t something that could be fixed that simply – he should have clocked much earlier that he also had a concussion, but none of that mattered right now.
The only thing that mattered was the deathly silence in his penthouse.
“Stella!” he yelled again, freezing for just a second at the sight of blood smeared across the formerly pristine floor/
He followed its path, alarm growing as the blood smear turned into a drop, and then a trail.
No. Please, not her.
The adrenaline that had kept him alive and somehow managed to get him back to his home was rapidly fading, replaced with fear and terror.
An emotion Christian Harper seldom felt.
He continued to follow the trail as quickly as his battered body allowed, his right hand leaving a bloody smear on his white walls as he used it for balance.
Living room. Empty.
Kitchen. Empty.
Hallway. Empty.
“Stella, talk to me!” he begged, reaching the bedroom, more fear flooding him as he clocked the door was ajar.
He pushed it aside and fell to his knees, but whether it was due to his body physically failing him or the sight of Stella, lying at the foot of the bed, he wasn’t sure.
Not that that mattered.
Stella was curled on her side, her hands pressed tightly against her stomach as they tried to quench a stream of blood seeping through her delicate fingers, pooling underneath her.
“Stella, fuck,” Christian half-crawled, half-dragged himself towards his wife, a cry escaping his own lips as the glass in his side shifted, slicing deeper, no doubt causing more damage.
He reached out for Stella, turning her over onto her back, taking note of her half-open eyes, glazed and unfocused.
She was never unfocused.
“Chris…tian?” she got out, not so much speaking but breathing his name out.
“You’re bleeding,” she pointed out, and Christian let out a strangled sob – she was worried about him when she was…
He looked down at where her hands were, parting them with his right hand, looking at the deep gash in her side, just below her ribs.
“Oh god,” he choked out, “Stella, look at me, baby, stay with me, okay?”
He tried to apply pressure, even trying to shift his left hand over, hoping to get some use out of his broken leg, but his arm refused to obey, and he keeled over, his right hand shooting out just in time to stop him from crushing Stella underneath him.
He gritted his teeth and pushed himself up to a kneeling position beside her, ignoring the blinding spike of white-hot agony washing through his shoulder and down his arm as he took his good hand and pressed down hard.
Stella gasped, her body arching weakly.
“I know, I know,” he informed her, “I know it hurts… I’m sorry… This is all my fault…”
She’s cold, he thought, as she bought her hands over right one.
“They… they were waiting,” she mumbled, her eyes more closed than open now, “they said… this was a message. That... you would understand…”
He understood enough.
Come this time tomorrow, they’d be dead.
All of them.
And if Stella died.
They’d be begging for a death he wouldn’t give them.
“Don’t talk, Stella, save your strength, help is…”
Fuck.
He didn’t call anyone, and with one man down, another critical in his lobby, they probably hadn’t either.
“I… I have to let go, just for a second,” he told her, moving his hand from her side and reaching for his phone, somehow miraculously uncracked and working, and pulling it out of his pocket, placing it on speaker after three attempts, placing it on speaker.
His vision continued to swim, and the room seemed to tilt a couple of degrees. He felt bile creep up his throat, becoming more nauseous by the minute.
Don’t throw up.
Don’t pass out.
Just call for help.
Call for help or she dies, and then you die, whether physically or otherwise.
“Christian… is everything?”
“Mirage, now. Bring everything you have. It’s Stella,” he told the man on the other side of the line, the only man he would trust to treat her, waiting for him to state he was on his way before ending the call.
He looked back down at his wife, her eyes now closed, her chest barely moving.
“Stella, Stella!” he shook her shoulder, but she didn’t react.
“Please, Stella,” Harper begged, pulling her upper body into his lap, ignoring the scream from his body at the sudden expenditure of energy.
He cradled her head against his chest, rocking her gently as his hand snaked back down to her side, pushing as hard as he could, terrified as he watched his and her blood mingle together.
“Don’t leave me, don’t…” his voice trailed off as he himself slumped against their bed, uttering her name one last time before everything went dark.