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He’d been foolish. He’d been cocky and stubborn and he hadn’t seen the goddamn sniper. Locus had - fuck, of course he had. Locus had known that it was a prime place for a sniper to hide. Locus had known Felix wouldn’t be paying attention.
He’d heard the shout, the call of his name on his partner’s lips. He’d felt Locus’ body collide with his, knocking him out of the way and hard onto the ground. He’d heard the heavy sound of the sniper rifle firing and felt a body drop heavily beside his own.
It felt like time had stopped.
Locus couldn’t die; he was too strong, too stubborn to give into death. Felix couldn’t let that happen. He would never let that happen.
So he moved quicker than he ever had in his lifetime. He killed the sniper - quick and clean because it was not the time for revenge - and he checked on Locus. His jacket was soaking heavily with blood but the bullet looked as though it missed anything vital and his heartbeat was faint and it was enough for Felix.
Getting Locus to the nearest hospital were the longest moments of Felix’s life. Or at least he’d thought they were until he was left waiting for his partner to come out of surgery. He felt like he was going insane as he watched the seconds and minutes and hours tick by on the clock above the nursing station. People shuffled by him, names were called. None of them were his. None to see Samuel Ortez.
Finally, when he was contemplating actually tugging out the remaining hair on his head, a nurse appeared before him.
“Isaac Gates? Would you like to see Samuel now?”
She led him down a hallway towards where Locus was apparently sleeping, still under from the procedures to remove the sniper round from his torso. Felix just wished she’d hurry the hell up and let him see his partner.
He’d shed his helmet long ago and left it sitting with Locus’ in the car along with their guns. He wished he hadn’t. He wanted to hide, to cover his face so that she couldn’t see the look of torture and pain on his face or his eyes welling with tears that he hadn’t shed in months if not years.
Locus laid there in the stark white, faded yellows, and sterile blues of the hospital room, his clothing removed and his torso bandaged, a thick swath of it where the round had been. His pallor made the scars stand out painfully, but the heart monitor was beeping away steadily so he figured his partner was doing better.
He didn’t remember the nurse leaving but suddenly he and Locus were alone in the room and Felix let out a heavy, shuddering breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His knees felt weak and he could have collapsed right there if he hadn’t felt something tugging on his chest, telling him he needed to be at Locus’ side. His steps were heavy and sluggish, dragging his tired, adrenaline-crashing body toward the chair by the bed. Felix fell into it, ignoring the squeak as it slid under his weight, and he reached for Locus’ blood-splattered hand.
Feeling Locus’ big, strong hand in his washed Felix in a sense of right, like everything was as it should be, and it was overwhelming. He felt like he was drowning then, suffocating under his relief that Locus was alive, that he’d heal and return to Felix like he always had. Felix wasn’t sure what he’d ever do if Locus wasn’t there in his life, wasn’t watching his back, wasn’t telling him to shut up, wasn’t back in their bed every night pressing affection into Felix’s skin with his kiss. It’d kill him, it’d do him under. The cunning, rat-bastard Felix, brought down by the loss of his partner.
His eyes swam as the unshed tears from before they finally overflowed, trickling down his cheeks and burning his skin. Felix felt weak and helpless and so goddamn foolish. How had he not seen the sniper? How had he been so stupid and careless? He was supposed to be Locus’ spotter, he was supposed to watch Locus’ back. He hadn't been. But Locus had been watching his.
“You fucking asshole,” Felix ground out, his voice thick and heavy with the hot tears rolling down his cheeks. “I was the one being stupid. I was the one not paying attention. You should have let me pay the consequences, you fucking idiot.”
The tears burned, rolling fat and wet over his skin and dripping onto his jeans. He gripped harder onto the hand he held in his and he leaned forward to press his lips against the dark skin of Locus’ knuckles.
Felix didn’t remember falling asleep but he wasn’t surprised. He was still so tired, his body drained after the long night he’d had. His face was sticky and uncomfortable from the tear tracks, his cheek sporting an imprint of his jacket sleeve, and his back was stiff from leaning on the bed.
The hand he held flexed and Felix shot up.
Locus was staring at him, his face mostly back to its normal color and it’s usual blank expression. He looked tired, his eyelids heavy, but he was alive and awake and Felix thought he looked amazing.
“You drooled on my hand.”
Amazing. But he was still an asshole.
“I was tired, alright? Fuck,” Felix snarled, releasing the hand he held so Locus could pull away. He didn’t. Instead he reached out his hand and rubbed his thumb over the sleepmarks on Felix’s cheek and Felix melted into the touch. “I was worried, asshole,” he grumbled but it was without its usual bite, instead sounding much like a whiny child.
“Then you should pay more attention,” Locus murmured, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Someday I might not be around to watch your back.”
Felix felt sick at the very idea. All of his thoughts from the previous night flooded back to him in a rush. What would he do without Locus? How would he survive? He was too careless, too reckless to handle jobs alone. He wouldn’t make it a day in the field without Locus at his side or situated somewhere behind him with a sniper rifle.
But it was more than that. What would he do if he didn’t wake up to Locus’ warm body pressed against him? He’d never get to run his fingers over that scar again, never get to press his mouth against it or the thousand others that littered Locus’ skin. Felix would never have a partner - in every sense of the word - like Locus again.
When he didn’t bite back a comment, Locus’ face twisted, his eyebrow jumping. “You were… really concerned, weren’t you?”
Felix nodded, swallowing a heavy lump so that he wouldn’t do something he’d regret. Like sob into Locus’ arms like a baby.
The hand on his face stilled and Locus reached out, wrapping his hand around the back of Felix’s neck and dragging him closer. Felix went willingly, then eagerly, and soon he was rushing forward - careful not to lean on his partner’s bandaged torso - and kissing Locus.
The kiss was more than a little sloppy and Locus could probably feel the desperation coming off of Felix like a wave. But when Felix pulled away, he let out a little sigh of relief like he could finally relax.
Locus wasn’t gone yet and Felix would be damn sure he didn’t go for a great many years. They were partners, they needed each other.
Felix needed Locus.