The Afterlife

There would be little to recall of his fearless dive when he awoke but the rough slide of pavement along warm-butter flesh; the weight of blood upon a limp tongue; the sharp cracking, crushing, and snapping of fragile bone, which would resound for weeks within Nemo’s wounded skull with the intensity of an ever repeating explosion. For his memory of the impact would dominate all else.

No moment had been spent basking in the aftermath of the fall, but an abrupt arrival of gravity and the Earth before Nemo’s unconscious body had been swept from the concrete and strewn across the polished floor of one familiar Ministry office, miles from the spattered blood that he and Matt had left in their wake. For upon the back of a portkey in the form of a seemingly ordinary Zippo lighter, the pair had been carried. The likes of which had been enchanted to provide the lad with a hasty retreat to Jack Dyllan’s office during their unfortunate career exchange, and had been stowed away safely within a pocket in his worn denims for later use.

Presently, Nemo’s fingers fell limp from their previously vice-like hold around Matt’s hand, which he had clutched to himself if only to insure that the man had remained at his side as Nemo had fought frantically to gain purchase in the air. And with a haggard breath, he expelled the blood that had begun to bubble forth from his lips as he settled upon the floor, once more the product of a failed attempted at suicide.

Matt was prepared for his death. After twenty some years of running from it and narrow escapes he was expecting his final moments. But they did not come. He had felt the concrete and one of the most excruciating pains he had ever felt. But then he found himself being slid across tile. He could still feel Nemo's grip on his left hand but could feel nothing else on his right. But suddenly Nemo's hand fell from the grip.

He began to panic.

He struggled to sit up against the wall his head was resting on. Every breath he took felt like a stab to the lungs. He was now suddenly aware of the pounding inside of his head. As if his brain was having a boxing match with his skull. His struggle lessened as he managed to sit up; back against the wall. He coughed and blood spurted out and stained his shirt even more. He looked down and he was covered in blood. His entire stomach was bloody and his shirt ripped open.

He had never been in worse pain. He couldn't even feel his legs.

Jack was exhausted.

So, Jack was always exhausted. But especially today. All night had been spent out in the field as a faux Auror, and all morning had been spent with new interns. Right now, one of the new Healers was following her, badgering her with questions. The woman was named Daisy and was exceptionally talented, but had no idea when to shut the hell up. Jack stormed towards her office, and yet Daisy skipped and jogged to keep up, refusing to shut her trap.

Jack reached her office, screwing her eyes up in pain. She could not believe this woman's ability to talk about nothing. Jack fished for her keys- having charmed it only for the keys- and Daisy continued. Jack's tired brain crashed, and burned. She spun to the woman and said, "GO HOME."

It was nighttime. Jack wanted to get her things, go home and check on her roommate, who had been elusive as of late, and collapse. Daisy stared and turned away, walking a few steps before looking back. Jack opened her office and stepped inside.

She took a look at her office and its new crimson decorations. "F*ck, everything," Jack burst out. And with a pain, she turned around. "Daisy, get your ass back in here and show me why you're worth the headache."

Daisy entered and suddenly, all words stopped. "Attack?" She walked forward and began casting spells, immediately repairing the most basic injuries. Jack approached and peered into the eyes of her roommate. 'Are you trying to kill me?" she asked softly. She could see both men's wounds beginning to heal with the work of the blabbermouth and Jack's worn heart slowed its beating.

Only when the blood that he gargled heaved from his chest a choking breath did Nemo stir. And it was to reveal a pair of pain-stricken eyes that his lids pulled groggily back, his otherwise electric blues having been consumed by the black that was his dilated pupils. But it was not as he was welcomed once more into the land of the living that the consequences of his actions overwhelmed him, but rather when he was greeted by the blurred and distant sight of an all too familiar redheaded friend. And as her lips moved to the sound of faint words, which had fallen all but silent on Nemo's ringing ears, the collision occurred and he convulsed.

Much in the manner that he had vomited on the carpeting in his flatmate's home after a shot too many or a long night out time and time again, Nemo rolled upon his side with all his strength that remained and with a sloppy groan more blood spilt from his broken lips. "No," He gasped, but his pain held too strong a grip on his being. Thus, not another protest was uttered as spells and charms were cast his way, undoubtedly with the intention of healing the wounds that he’d carved for himself.

"S-sparky..." He coughed as his consciousness wavered.

Matt's sight was blurry. But he could hear perfectly fine. And he was not at all pleased when he had heard the angry tone of Jack Dyllan. If he could groan without it hurting he would of. He took a very deep breath which was probably an incredibly horrible idea. As Matt's eyes finally took an adjustment to the area around him he made a move towards Nemo. The healer fussed over him but it felt like she had done no good. Matt remembered he couldn't feel his legs. He made to drag himself over to Nemo but he appeared alright. Otherwise Jack probably wouldn't have been cross.

He dragged himself across the floor towards him as he heard the familiar voice of his friend. He then heard his very own nickname and he finally collapsed, barely being able to breath. His eyes widened and he looked at the roof through the hair that was covering his eyes. He tried to speak but he could barely manage a breath. Instead he moved his hand towards Nemo's. He took it and shook it to signify that he was okay. Each breath hurt a little more and he coughed up more blood as it spluttered back into his mouth.

"Help." he croaked as he looked up at Jack and then down at his blood soaked chest and torso.

It was like an orchestrated dance. Jack didn't know who the choreographer was, but she wanted to kick his ass. Both of the men coughed up blood, and they croaked out words and Jack stood, torn between the two. Jack could not be preferential in such a situation and yet - Poe was really the only person she had left. Jack closed her eyes, gathering every scrap of energy she could.

One more time, she told herself for the millionth time.

Okay.

Her eyes opened. "Daisy." The woman turned. "You need to heal them both. Quickly." She hurried to a cabinet as Daisy continued and pulled out two bottles, both basic pain potions. She went first to Matt an uncorked it. "For pain," she said bringing it to his lips. "You're okay now," Jack whispered. "Everyone leaves my office alive. Contrary to popular belief."

She turned and went to her roommate, squatting next to him and unscrewing the potion. "Poe?" she asked, using her wand to clear the blood from his face. "I'm going to help you, okay?" she asked it softly, but offered up the potion. "It'll make it not hurt. Then we can go home and watch a movie with caramel popcorn and burnt bacon."

*

The hand that had crept across the floor to join his own was neither comforting nor reassuring, but quite simply there. For mere months, Nemo and Matt had been acquainted, yet it was in an instinctual manner that often accompanied years of familiarity that Nemo did return the squeeze that he'd received. No further thought of Matt's safety occupied Nemo's frenzied mind as he held on to him with fingers growing numb, for Matt was there, as he had been when Nemo had leapt from the rooftop. Matt would not leave his side. Of this - if only this - Nemo was certain.

Thus, his attention did turn away from the man who lay beside him. And towards the stitches that he had received whilst at St. Bart's his eyes swept. "Fu-F***," Nemo stuttered as his free hand dipped beneath the surface of his skin and the collection of split stitching to settle amongst his torn and bloodied inner workings. His head fell with a heavy crack against the floor as he cradled his stomach in his palm and a scream died in his chest.

"Then we can go home..."

Nemo shook his head defiantly and in a like gesture he bit down on slippy lips to seal his mouth against the potion Jack had to offer. There was hope yet, Nemo realized as a second ghost of a cry rattled his dying body. There was still hope of death.

Matt opened his mouth slowly as the potion filled his mouth. He swallowed painfully and the potion warmed inside of his throat. Immediately the drumming inside of his skull was dulled and his eyes were no longer blurry. He was aware of his surroundings but just barely. He groaned and tried to sit up as the healer fussed over him. His chest was on fire but breathing became less painful. He was finally able to let the groan out that he'd been holding on to. He looked up at the healer who was standing over and looking at him. "Are you gonna help me or not?" he croaked annoyed.

The healer rolled her eyes and began to make a few wand movements over his body. He let out a gasp of pain as she reassembled his ribs. She had to rip one out of his lungs to do so, it wasn't comfortable. Breathing was returned to normal but he still couldn't feel his legs.

"Turn over." she commanded and Matt did. He kept his eyes shut ready for some intense pain of the replacement of the spine but there was nothing. He couldn't see what she did but soon the feeling returned. He turned over and gasped out for breath. Breathing. Breathing was good.

Matt rubbed his eyes, he wasn't feeling 100% but he was feeling a whole hell of a lot better. He was weak though, he couldn't muster the ability to stand up quite yet. "Blimey, I feel like I fell-" he was about to finish. Then he realized that what he was about to say, actually happened. He looked over at Nemo. He still looked like he was in rough shape. He was going to say something but thought better. So he lay his head against the wall behind him and shut his yes; just listening.

Jack could hear Daisy working carefully on Matt a few feet away, and it sounded anything but pretty, easy, or painless. However, Jack was not like others. She could not bend her alliances in crises. Jack took care of those she cared for first. She had run into Matt twice- Poe was her roommate. There was little that could be happening around her to forget that and move on from him.

He refused the pain potion and she said, "Please, Poe." She put the potion down and sighed. "Daisy, please hurry." Jack looked at Poe for a long moment but knew she had nothing she could do. She fell out of her squatting position onto her knees and stared at him. Then, as exhaustion and that inkling of hopelessness grew inside of her, she leaned forward, resting her temple against Poe's chest, as she waited patiently for help to arrive. All the while, she softly chanted the word 'please' over and over, quietly- for neither Daisy nor Matt needed to know that Jack could be reduced to pleading.

Jack heard Daisy approach and begin her work. Jack sat up and stared at him, saying, "It's Ministry protocol, Poe. Surely, you knew that." She fell into silence to give Daisy her time. After awhile, however, she turned to Matt. "How you doing over there, Matt?"

In spite of himself, Nemo had denied his only promise of relief from the hellish suffering that he experienced . In spite of himself, he had concealed the worst of the gruesome injuries that he had obtained beneath the cover of his trembling hand and had begun to pluck at those threads which continued to prevent his life from spilling from his core to pool on the floor of Jack’s office. And in spite of himself once more and his conception of his present physical boundaries, Nemo barked aloud a raspy laugh shortly after Matt’s complaint, for his conscious thoughts were gradually slowing. He could not deny himself the simple pleasure of his last request and the oldest of his vises.

Laughter and amusement.

It was an action that he regretted instantaneously, however. With a pained jerk, his flattened palm had buried itself in the depths of his being and an unidentifiable (for the slashed and dirtied shirt that clung to his stomach prevented Nemo from doing any further exploring) system of importance erupted in a thick and lively spurt of red. Too much. There was far too much blood. Nemo was growing increasingly disturbed by the bodily fluid which seemed to flow from him in abundance. For he had never been particularly fond of the concept of a bloody end. He had forever been a man of toxins, fire, and the freefall.

In a panicked scramble to put to an end the spouting substance, Nemo retrieved his hand from Matt and grappled with his splitting gut. The injury seemed to continue for far longer than his torso allowed, and had ironically worsened to the extent of putting to shame those which he'd received as a result of The Fall.

“Please,” Nemo returned Jack’s begging words as his arms slithered around his midsection to hold it firmly in a fractured ‘x’; his arm appeared to have been broken with the unnatural nature in which it had begun to bend before his elbow. “Please, don’t,” He hissed out of desperation. "Let. Me. Die," He grunted, in spite of himself.