)
Mick fell to his knees and grabbed Len by his jacket, pulling him into his arms, shifting automatically on his heels to block his partner away from everyone else’s view.
His hands were shaking, but he ignored that. His shoulders were locked tight, his neck felt like a live wire had just been shoved into it; he was going to get a spasm if he didn’t loosen up, and he just didn’t care. He ran his hands up and down Len’s sides, checking frantically for the fatal wound that never landed.
His face felt like it was numb. Len was still bleeding like a stuck pig from that hit to his head earlier; his pupils were different sizes, probably a concussion. But he smiled a little, looking a bit dazed, and lifted up his fingers to Mick’s face.
They came away wet.
Mick didn’t even realize that he remembered how to cry after so many years.
With a moan of pain, he pulled Len in tighter, clutching at him, burying his face into the crook of Len’s neck. His fingers scrabbled at Len’s back, desperately seeking purchase in that stupid leather jacket of his. He couldn’t stop moving, electricity running through his veins like he was the Flash, leaning forward one minute, pulling back the next, always keeping Len close to his chest. Keep him back from the world that kept trying to snatch him away for good.
Keep him safe.
Alive.
Safe.
Mick’s hands were shaking and the tears kept falling.
But Len was okay.