Summary:Alex takes Cassandra back to his place to play doctor. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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She could read the concern in him. It was there in the tension. Tight shoulders as he moved, a clenched grip when he leapt and landed and caught. To anyone else it was nothing, unnoticeable in its difference. But to her it was a steady pulse evident in every step and turn. She could almost read the way he was mentally kicking himself for either not having noticed it at first… or perhaps having caused it with something he imagined he did.
Yet it did not slow him. Did not affect the way he scanned the horizon and darted across the rooftop. Taking a route meant for speed and less for challenge, unlike their earlier dash across the skyline. And then there was Washington Square Park, and a building over. That five story apartment building with that window she had snuck through only a few hours ago.
Occasionally he would look back, perhaps in moments imagining when she might not be looking at him. Trying to not seem too concerned. But that was like trying to deceive a wolf's read of the hunt. And he had nowhere near the needed practice in deception.
The window sill crunched faintly under his steps as he dropped down to it, pulling it open and then slipping inside. Despite his speed of movement he barely made a sound though the shadow behind him was utterly silent. Once in there he stepped away quickly and said over his shoulder, "Sit down." A finger pointed towards the bed nearby and then the light tripped on in the bathroom as he slipped inside, his shadow growing long from that gleaming halogen as he opens the cabinet and kneels beside it.
To say that Orphan followed Alex might be something of a misnomer. Because she looses none of her speed in keeping up with him. And even without him saying where they're going, she seems to know where he's heading and what route that they'll take. It's clear in the way when they hit the rooftop, the soft *tap* *tap* off one landing followed by the next, that they turn in synch for the next location. Nothing in how she moves bespeaks pain. No wincing. No favoring that side. There are of course, no questions from the darkly clad young woman and the pair move across the rooftops like shadows.
Cassandra drops down with Alex, easing in through the window. She lingers just inside and when he points to his bed she lifts up her arms a bit with that cant of her head that bespeaks a question. Water drips down from her costume, having gathered in their rooftop return. Not tracking water about seems to rate higher to her than sitting down because of the open wound she's got.
It's twelve seconds before he returns with a black plastic aid kit that he cracks open with a doube twist of its clasps. The new plastic breaks as he's moving and then he looks at her, bright blue eyes finding those eyelets in her mask and he smiles a little incredulously. "Just do what I ask and after we can fight about it?" Even though ok, she may well win that fight.
But he gestures over to the bed even as he drops down to kneel there, setting the first aid kit out and starting to dig around inside it, "Don't worry, I'll change the covers." Which from him is probably a big get, considering how much he hates laundry.
But then he turns to her and she can see that crease in his brow and his hands holding a white bit of fabric. He extends a hand towards her where he had seen that hint of blood and asks her, "Can you… take off your… that part of your suit?"
Cassandra Cain was just trying to be a good guest! As her arms drop to the side, there's the slight shift of her shoulders in a shrug to say 'alright then' before stepping over to his bed and sitting down. She sits there, still for a moment as she watches him with the kit before bringing up her hands, fingers together and palms out and gesturing about her head a bit and then pointing at him. "« Worry. You. »" She signs.
When Alex gestures down, she looks as well, touching the area lightly before her head tilts back as he speaks, to watch him so she can understand what he's asking. Without any noticeable hesitation, she reaches up to work the fastenings on her costume loose and pulls the armored top free. There's no modesty there, and in the light it's easy to see where one of the gunshot wounds she took the other day has managed to break the stitching open and started to bleed again.
After that initial shock of red, then the rest of the picture might come into focus. Her skin is a roadmap of scars. The weeping wound is just the latest in a book of violence. And so many of them are old. A decade, easy. There are some bullet scars that are so large, there's no way she should have survived getting them. Unless perhaps. They grew with her.
He's still digging out elements from the kit, a pair of fresh medical scissors that he tears open from their packaging. A box of swabs is opened. Bandages are the next in turn. The hydrogen peroxide bottle is set on the end table next to his bed right next to the small alarm clock that glows red and casts a faint crimson shade upon his features.
Alexander catches that sign and he concentrates for a moment, then says with a small half-laugh that is not so much humorous and more aimed at himself. "Yes." He nods, "I worry. Am worried. About you."
And for some reason that draws him up short. He stops moving for an instant with the package that contains the surgical thread partially in his teeth as he'd been about to tear it open. Then he looks up and meets her gaze and says, "Yeah I… I care about you." His lips work as if he was trying to say something else, or the entire concept surprised him.
But then he shakes his head as he finishes tearing open the supplies. Yet now she can almost /feel/ this warmth of regard that causes his body to flush. Embracing that feeling and letting himself hold onto it like some torch waved in hand against the dark of the night and the creatures hovering upon the edges of its light.
But his breath catches when the top is freed and he sees that latticework of scars and bullet holes in her body. His mouth opens, and remains so as empathy lights in his eyes. A fingertip lifts, to lightly touch the hard curve of her abdomen as he feels one of those scars. Then he shakes his head, purses his lips as he looks down and seems to commit that to something they will talk about later.
Her wound is observed and he frowns as he lightly probes the torn areas with their split stitches sundered by the efforts. "This is… you got this?" The time that must have passed, "When we first met?"
But the question does not stop him as he takes those scissors and begins the work needed to remove those torn stitches, snipping off the ends and slowly… sliding the split thread from her flesh.
Cassandra Cain looks perhaps especially silly, with the hood on her head and the athletic bra and just the bottoms of her costume. The tilt of her head says her attention is all on him though, as he responds. And as he comes to that realization.
Even days old, the wound, as clean as it is and as well as it has been healing would have most on bedrest. Or at least taking it easy and moving gingerly. It might be that she's some sort of mutant, though it certainly doesn't seem to make her heal any faster. And instead of her attention being on that, instead when she signs without a flinch for the wound, it's about him. "« Heart. Surprise. You. »"
He might have picked up from reading up on ASL, and watching his videos, that her 'conversation' is… stilted. They don't go in the right order. They overlap. It's.. messy and takes some thinking and guesswork as to what she's saying.
Orphan doesn't pull away at his touch, and watches him more than his hands. When he asks, she gives a slight nod that ends with another slight tilt of her head. Overall, she stays very still as he works, even when he might pull a bit too hard on a thread.
The golden youth on his knees before her handles the thread expertly, not as gentle as some might wish for, but there is such a precise dexterity in his hands. A clean snip, then tweezers drawing the thread away. He puts the threads in a small container upon that end table near the hydrogen peroxide, then takes the bottle and tilts it on its side, moistening a square section of white fabric.
Softly, he dabs at her wound, the anti-septic burbling faintly in the wound as he takes a moment to look up at her, brow knitting as he concentrates and then tries to answer her. "Surprise?"
He bites his lower lip as he continues to gently cleanse the injury and then places the fabric on there with some steady pressure to reduce the slow seeping bleeding. "I… yes I'm surprised. I've."
He draws back the bandage and then tells her, "Please lie down?" And if that's not enough he lightly taps his hand upon the soft mattress as he nods, asking for her to recline. "It'll help me get to the wound easier." He sits up on his knees now and if she does as he asks it will give him a better angle assuredly.
But as he begins to ready the hooked needle and the thread he tells her softly, "I've never cared about anyone before. Except… my father."
He keeps talking quietly as he works, gently touching the edges of the wound and making his internal count for the number of stitches needed as well as the best approach. "My family they are. They're not normal." Though he looks at her wounds and she can see that he frowns at what her family did to her. But he continues to speak softly. "And I am…" He shakes his head and she can see such sincerity in his words, even if she may not fully understand what he says. "I worry that I may not be a good person."
Then the first needle pierces her skin and he begins to work, precise and not rushed, but not too slow either. "And before you. I thought I knew what it meant to feel some things."
His eyes widen as he just keeps talking and he smiles a little as if incredulous of himself. "And I was… so wrong."
There's a slight pause as Alex makes his request, but when he taps her shoulder she eases down to lay back on his bed. At least her mask is dry thanks to the hood on her costume. She won't leave his pillow all soaked through. She draws a slow, deep breath that he can see as it makes her chest rise. Then she lets it out and goes very still as she waits for him to do the stitching. Without any sort of painkiller. Her head stays turned towards him, though. Watching.
Of course, she can't really 'speak' back to him, not and stay still for him to work. And while she might not show much reaction to pain she's not interesting in acerbating it. In a way, it gives him a quiet bubble to speak his thoughts without interruption. To muse and ramble on what's rattling around in his own head.
Instead of 'saying' anything, her arm on the opposite side rises so her fingers can touch his forearm lightly. That's it. Just that touch. Before she lets it fall away, resting on her abdomen as he continues to work.
That smallest of touches causes him to swallow slowly, mouth going dry as he shakes his head a little and then smiles softly. "So I have no idea who you really are." The needle moves steadily, and he's drawing those loops tightly settling them with that slow build of tension combined with the faint making of the needed knots.
"And I have no idea if you feel at all the same," His eyes remain focused on the task at hand and it becomes so much easier to speak. To share these thoughts. "But you…"
His smile grows a little and then he winces as one stitch jerks free and he whispers. "Sorry, sorry." But then he finishes the movement and says, "But you have given me a gift."
A topical cream is gently applied, chilly and offering some relief to the pain. He draws back and then reaches for the clean bandage to place over the freshly stitched wound, covering it and beginning to tear pieces of tape with his teeth. The bandage is attached into place as he murmurs quietly, "And I will carry you with me in my heart. For the rest of my days." He secures the last trip with a gentle pressure of finger tips.
"Which should probably be a good long while." His smile is there and then he looks away… hands reaching only then to the bottle of aspirin that was in the kit. He twists of the top and rattles three tablets out then extends them towards her. "If I give you these will you take them…"
And that's the moment when he looks back towards her features and the mask that hides them.
There's something about silence, about knowing you won't be interrupted. It gives a sense of safety to let things rattle free from your thoughts. Something Cassandra can't really indulge in. At least, not in the same way. Her attention stays on him, her breathing slow and controlled even as he apologizes. A longer breath does push out of her in a sigh at the cream. It seems she does feel pain, after all.
As he works, of course he'll likely never be sure just how much of what he says she understands. Even if he knew in detail her language problems, what she manages to infer is likely to be a mystery. But what isn't is what she looks like. As he offers up the tablets and looks up, she's pulled the mask free so she can look at him with dark eyes instead of through her HUD.
The features go with the slightly golden cast of her skin, marking her strongly as some manner of Asian though it looks like it's been mixed with enough to make which particular stripe something of a mystery. Dark eyes and dark hair cut short as it frames her face. Her gaze is cast down to his hand, as she takes the painkillers and then tosses them back and swallows them down before she meets his eyes again.
The paleness in the center of his blue eyes seems to grow as his irises dilate subtly, that faint hint of yellow in their depths seeming to be given a touch of life as he looks between her eyes. His breath is held, the space of several heartbeats as he doesn't move his hand as she takes the tablets from his palm.
A caress lifts and just for a small moment he touches the curve of her cheek, that same small gesture that was shared upon that rooftop with the rain falling around them. The corners of his mouth seem to shift between a smile on one side, the other, both.
Alexander's mouth seems dry and then he says quietly. "You…"
// Are beautiful. //
// Are amazing. //
The language she can read in him speaking those other soft words that she can see in his eyes.
"Probably need to go."
// Please stay. //
// Never leave. //
His hand lowers faintly, yet even as he murmurs those words quietly. They are not what he means at all.
He swallows again and that caress eases away from her cheek and then he smiles a little and says softly. "But there… all better."
He can see now, the way her eyes move as they watch him. Between his gaze, flicking down to his mouth, over to one of his shoulders. The way her head turns slightly is accented by the shift of her hair, and when he speaks, he can see the slight furrow in her brow as she tries to figure out what he's saying. Because he seems to be speaking in two voices that say very different things.
Cassandra's hand comes up, without the glove this time, and brushes across his lips. And then, after a pause, the reach higher, to trace a line under his eyes. Her expression pinches a bit, the confusion clear there. But what she might be confused about might be harder to understand.
As he declares her all better, she tilts her attention down, her other hand smoothing over his handiwork. She looks back up to him and offers a small smile that then brightens into a bit of a grin as she gives him a thumbs-up.
His eyes lower when she gives the thumbs up, and her smile warms him as he shakes his head as he hides a grin. Alexander then rises, slowly, gaining his feet as he pushes the debris and detritus of the first aid kit out of his way with the nudge of his shoe. Then he'll look into her eyes again and offer his hand to her to help her back to her feet.
"C'mon, it's getting late." And as he draws her upwards he shifts his gaze to the side, swallowing once as he gestures with a nod. "I'll umm, pack up this stuff. Maybe you can?"
He starts to say something else. Something so practical and utilitarian and proper that is what he should do in that moment. Only when he turns back towards her she hadn't stepped away in that instant. Still reading him, still 'listening'.
Their eyes meet again and she'll see his eyebrows draw together until he whispers softly, "Ah man." But she can read in him a decision reached. As he lifts a hand to brush it through that short wild hair of hers. Fingertips curling just faintly along the curve of her neck, and then he takes that last step forward to draw close enough for his eyes to close and his lips to find hers. A soft kiss shared in that single instant.
Honestly, it was late when they started. It's moving into decidedly 'early' now, though they still have a bit before the sun will start to creep over the city. It's one of the quietest times for the city, where even the rush of cars in the streets has died to a whisper.
Cassandra takes his hand, and without the gloves he can feel the calluses on her hands. The roughness of her fingers. Her knuckles. Everything about her body speaks of years of battle. And yet, she can't be any older than he. She's reaching for the top to her costume, shrugging it on about her as Alex is wrestling with himself. Coming to that decision. She pauses, fastenings still dangling open as he touches her hair and his fingertips brush her skin. When he steps into her space she goes still, breath pausing. That chaste kiss is brushed against her lips and she remains still. Her eyes stay open, watching him through it. At the very end, just as he's pulling away, she leans into him just a bit, and then pulls back and away. It wasn't really kissing him back. It's not clear *what* it was. The only clear thing is she's sealing the costume back up, and reaching for her mask.
There's a slight furrow of her brow as she stands there, looking at him. Unable to speak in a way that he's likely to really understand. Not yet. Finally, she shakes her head and points to him, and then his bed. Guess it's his bed time.
The pale Olympian has a flushed color to his features and she can read that hint of embarrassment, a touch of confusion. He lifts a hand and tries to tell her quietly, "Oh I uhm," Something else he was going to say, but only then adding on, "You're probably right."
He takes a step back and bites his lower lip as she makes ready to go. There are many things he would say, and the myriad of them rushing through his mind most likely gives her little insight into his intentions. He does ask, however, "Do you… need help getting back?"
Since most people might well need that help what with such an injury. But he knows she likely will be fine. Though he will walk with her towards the window to see her off when she finally moves to depart. On some level perhaps mentally kicking himself. But then he'll smile to her and say quietly, "I hope to see you again."
Since that is very true for him.
Cassandra Cain reaches up to pull her cowl on once more, and then to pull the hood up over that as she makes her way over to the window. She glances back at him a few times, mostly because of that embarrassment that lingers about him that she doesn't quite understand. The question gets a shake of the head. Some thing she seems to understand so clearly, and others… well, Alex is likely starting to get an idea of just how convoluted her grasp of language is.
Back in her costume, and little more than a shadow accented in yellow, Orphan slips easily out of the window and perches on that thin ledge about the building with no sense that she's concerned about the three story drop to the hardscape below. As Alex voices his hopes, there's the shift of shadows where her face is. The suggestion of a smile. She nods, and then reaches out to touch his nose lightly again and then she's falling away, out into thin air. Moments later there's the soft *paft* of a swingline firing, and instead of hitting the ground she's winging up into the waning night.