No offense meant to Elliot, but Finch wasn’t going to throw his lover into the line of fire just because he could survive the burns. He’d protect him—even if that meant indeed turning himself in for a crime he hadn’t committed. That being said, he didn’t want to have to jump in the line anyway—the line-up, at any rate. He wasn’t a killer. He was a criminal, sure, but Finch perhaps lacked the backbone needed to commit cold-blooded murder. Except, of course, for the whole Thomas incident, but still. That had mostly been an accident.
And it hadn’t stuck, anyway, so it hardly countered or anything…
Stumbling across lines of debris; caution tape, and various other issues with the blocked-off street, Finch coughed and inhaled—a wheezy, rasping rattle of a breath that threatened death more than it did life. He hadn’t been given his inhaler, for one obsolete reason or another. And he had a few attacks the first few nights in jail, too. Not a good combination.
So off he staggered, haphazardly slinking and stumbling Elliot’s way like a wayward spirit, flickering in and out of focus between rising plumes of discarded manhole covers and the settling dust of three blown-out buildings. Green eyes watering once more, he flashed Elliot a feeble smile amid the wreckage in the street, his gaze searching the healer’s own with a desperate; hungry stare.
“…I dunno if ye’ve noticed,” he croaked faintly, gesturing with a vague hand and another quiver in his legs. “But it seems no’ a damn fing’s alrigh’ in t’is fuckin’ town at t’e mo’.” And with that, the little man finally collapsed headlong into Elliot’s arms, clutching his shoulders and quaking with another round of coughs.
“Missed y’,” he managed to mumble, sweat on his brow. “Bloody ‘ell, Elliot, I missed you…”
And no offense meant to Finch, but Elliot wasn’t about to leave his lover to face the fires on his own, whether or not he could heal from the burns. Even if he wasn’t quite sure how one proceeded in these situations or what the best course of action was, he’d be there as best he could with whatever he could. And somehow, he trusted, things would work out in the end. They just had to.
It was probably for the best, really, that Elliot didn’t know fully the fate which had befallen Finch while he was in jail. Oh, he could take a guess here and there (it didn’t take a conspiracy theoriest to guess that what the town had gone through not even a few hours prior had at least something to do with Finch, even if he wasn’t the cause), but the full knowledge of how poorly his lover had been treated would not lead to any happy places or causes for elation.
Looking about, his expression caught between too many emotions to properly name, he let out something torn between a laugh and a sigh. “No, I don’t suppose any of it is properly alright. I’m simply hoping that if you are not quite alright, that I can help somehow.” And as Finch fell into him, he wrapped his arms around the smaller of the two, holding him as close as he could.
“I’ve missed you too, Rupert,” Elliot whispered, burying his face against the flyer’s hair, eyes closed as though he would wake from a dream if he opened his eyes. “So very much. I’ve been so worried about you.”
Coming from someone who had set many a blaze and been on the receiving end of a few burns, Finch would rather Elliot stay behind--stay safe. But in lieu of the fact that his lover happened to be quite headstrong if need be, Finch knew it would be a losing argument before he so much as opened his mouth. Elliot was just...like that. Difficult, but in the best possible way. A loving, insistent, nurturing way that was reminiscent of--not that he'd ever tell him--some sort of nesting bird. Fitting, considering the circumstances and with whom the T.A. currently associated...
Finch had yet to see, however, the tip of Elliot's temper. He had no idea how Elliot had reacted at the news to him being in jail--obviously he must've known, just like his parents, and yet...no one had been by to see him. He'd been abandoned in there with his thoughts and Hale's constant hounding. It was exhausting just thinking about it, and it bled the color from Finch like a bruised petal off a wilting flower.
"Y'elp jus' by 'oldin' me like this, don'ya," he mumbled into Elliot's shoulder, kneading his arms gently as he tried to rise, holding onto the taller man for dear life as he wobbled upright somewhat. Watery green eyes scanned Elliot's face as the snub-nosed Northerner inhaled shakily and looked around, then back to Elliot once more--just making sure he was a., still safe, and b., still there. Real.
He returned the hug and closed his own eyes tightly, fingers strengthening as they found purchase behind Elliot instead, holding him closer than close. "Then why didn'ye visit me?" He mumbled weakly. "Not tha'm complainin' or anyfing but fer feck's sake Ell, s'been an awfully long time since I las'saw ye...though y...y'ated me now, or somefin'..."
