c:
[Relaxing he can do. Relaxing is easy, and with a pained wince he lets himself fall back against the floor, hands still pressed firmly against his stomach to at least pretend he can stop this. It doesn't matter how sure you are, there's always a small part that wants to keep fighting and he can't help but think if this was what Prentiss felt like.
She made it. Maybe he will too. ]
R-rebecca... don'... [He tries to keep her from moving his hands but there's only so much strength left in him, and without much of a struggle he loses his grip in the blood-soaked fabric. Fresh, deep-red rivers well up as the pressure is removed, quickly oversaturating his shirt - the wound is deep, and although it'll be a slow process there's no doubt that he'll bleed out before long.]