ok, so this is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT ok to refuse but I F you want to: cleojohn: 'oh, shiny!' or 'does that hurt?' (again, totally ok if you don't want to :3)
“Does that hurt?” He asks, looking her over. Never has he wished he could leave the water more than he does right now, with her lying helplessly on the shore, soaking the sand with her blood.
Even half-delirious from blood loss, she still manages a wink. “Better now that you’re here, handsome.” It would almost be reassuring but for the way she struggles through every word, gasping at the end.
He may not be Helen, but he understands basic things: Cleo is losing blood far too quickly to survive it without interference.
“I’ll get Helen. She can-”
How she moves so quickly in this state, he has no idea, but her hand shoots out, catching his wrist.
“Stay. Please.” It’s the lack of flirty commentary, more than anything, that locks him in place. Her voice is suddenly small, and he realizes with sickening certainty that she’s afraid. She knows she’s beyond hope, beyond saving, and it terrifies her.
There’s an idea scratching at the back of his mind, unthinkable (except that he cannot stop thinking it, cannot stop considering)-
“Wish I had more time,” she says finally. “I was gonna marry you, you know?”
Resignation and determination mingle in his chest. He cannot do this (but he will). He does not deserve her (but he will not let her go, not like this). “I daresay you still might,” he says quietly, and her eyes go wide. Rarely does he grant her flirtations more than an indulgent smile-they’re from different worlds, after all-but he sees no reason to hold back now.
“Not really up for... Putting on a wedding dress right now. Raincheck?” A tear slips down her cheek before she can stop it, and he knows time is almost up. If he’s going to do this (and he is), now is his last chance.
He yanks his hand free from hers, forcing himself to ignore the hurt in her eyes, and claws at his arm. Once he’s drawn blood-icy blue-he reaches out, letting a few drops fall into her gaping wound. She watches them fall, then looks back at him, a question in her eyes she never gets a chance to voice. In the next moment she shrieks, a sound that cuts him to the core, and falls unconscious on the sand.
-
When she wakes, he’s floating across the room from her, watching her in open concern. Helen has patched up her wounds (wounds that were already beginning to heal, her new mer form regenerating quickly), and traded her bullet-hole ridden gold dress for a glittering white one (white, of course; he’ll have to scowl at Helen about that one later) that fits better with her new tail.
She blinks up at him a few times, brows furrowed in an expression he’d almost call adorable if he wasn’t so afraid.
“I imagine you have many questions,” he starts, and she shakes her head.
“Just one.” She’s clearly still weak, but she lifts her head. “Were you serious about marrying me?”
He pauses. “That’s your first concern?”
She considers for a moment, before humming. “Second. First, I’m going to kiss you.”
He cannot stop the laugh that bubbles up inside him, giddy relief pushing away the fear. “Whatever you want, my love,” he says softly, making his way to her side. “Whatever you want.”