redrighthanded | IC; Duplicity Inbox

[ She's lucky to find him there; he hasn't been back long, having spent the night elsewhere, sleeping off the booze and everything else. He's alone for the moment, mostly asleep again on the bed, but the knock at the door brings him back up into a deeply hungover existence. He seriously considers ignoring whoever it is, but then Gilia's voice filters through the damp-warped wood and he knows he can't leave here there.

Hauling himself up with a groan, he goes to the door and pulls it open, his expression dark with exhaustion and pain. Bloodied bandages are wrapped around his midsection, though the wounds are mostly healed by now, and he's the worse for wear for having drunk himself unconscious and not bathed since the fight. All in all, he's had better days.

He narrows his eyes around the pounding in his skull and looks down at her. ]

Didn't need to bring me anything.

[ She gasps, when she sees him, as she never had at any other time when she saw him. No, the pain written all over him. This poor man, bloody and ripped into. The suffering all over him. The tears so sharp in her eyes. ]

Your very appearance now tells me I should never wish to do anything less. Why have you not been tended more? Truly, if there is misery in this city it is in this.

[ It's more forthright than she has any right to be, but she must. Indignant and hurt for him, she must. To reach forward and take his arm, and in very small, sure steps, the way she often led her mother these days, she leads him back to bed. ]

The state of you, my heart cannot bear it. I will see to all of this.

I didn't -- [ He starts, but then she's taking his arm anyway and he lets her lead him back into the room, which isn't much better in terms of mess.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. The guilt at making her worry churns in the acid wash of everything else that's happened over the last day or so. ]

You don't have to do anything. Really.

[ There she shakes her head, getting him settled and catching his face in the cup of her palm. ]

The opposite could not be more true. I care for you, and what good is caring for someone if you are not there for them? It should be a half measure, and words with no heart are not worth their breath, that is what my father always told me.

And if you try to tell me not to, I must inform you I am the sensible one of six siblings, and I have heard all excuses and begging under the sun to get out of prescribed rest and comfort, and you shall find me in this, immovable.

[ There is a fond kiss, pressed against his forehead, then she eases a breath out and straightens. ]

First, you need to clean all this blood off, a decent meal, clean sheets and all this rubbish out of your rooms.

[ If Hellboy didn't feel equal to Gilia's regard for him before, he certainly doesn't now, not after what he's done. Despite the reassurances he's had that it wasn't his fault, he can't deny the memory of it still sitting within him, smeared across his stomach underneath those bandages. The thought of someone like Gilia seeing that evidence, knowing the details of it all makes him feel even sicker.

He closes his eyes under the pass of her lips against him and doesn't open them, his head bowed. ]

No, kid. You need to leave.

[ She is simply - taken a back. Blinking at him in surprise, her mouth pulling down in confusion. ]

Whatever for? You need tending first and foremost. I would remiss if I did not do at least that.

[ He opens his eyes to study her. ]

I'll be fine. I can heal. [ He realises something and pauses, brow furrowed. ] How did you know I'm hurt?

[ He meets the same little too serious, always nervous and the overly concerned woman she always is.

Except it seems the times she meets him. ]

... Everyone knows, I am afraid. Someone was very... very unspeakable and saw fit to share your fight and... besides... with everyone on the daily missives.

[ She does not understand the word network. ]

[ He gets the meaning behind her words easily enough. It slips between his ribs like a knife, piercing something he'd been holding on to since he arrived. A sort of hope, perhaps, that he's found a place where he can fit in a little better, a place strange enough to accept him. And now he knows they never will. Not after seeing that creature he'd become.

Not after seeing what he'd done. ]

Oh. [ Leaning forward, he covers his face with his hand, rubbing his eyes. Everything hurts, all the way down to his bones; he's never felt so old. So tired. Hecate, he thinks, must be laughing somewhere.

When he speaks again, it's with a voice edged with disbelief, though he doesn't look up at her, his shoulders bowed. ]

You know what I did to him.

I do.

[ It's very soft. Small, as she often feels made by life, no less for the pain she can see in his face.]

And I am not going anywhere, no matter how you protest my presence. So will others, like they did to me, you are a victim of horrific circumstance, and they know it too.

[ He lifts his head at that, fixes her with golden, inhuman eyes. ]

I could throw you out. [ He pauses, then adds the truth that feels like an insurmountable weight, the fathom-deep pressure inside his head and his heart: ] I could hurt you.

[ She does not flinch, not even to turn her head away, as she looks back into his eyes. ]

You could. You could break my body, I am sure. I do not know violence, and I am only a woman, you would strip me back in a moment. I would be at your mercy.

[ She leans back again, a hand to his shoulder, careful, light. ]

That changes nothing.

[ The soft touch of her hand on his shoulder is almost enough to undo him, then and there. He feels something ache inside his chest that has nothing to do with the outcome of the fight. ]

It does. [ He looks down at his hands in his lap. ] It does for me.

[ After a moment he lets out a breath. Makes an effort. ] Whaddya bring?

It shall never for me. I would rather bleed than know I did not attempt to give another kindness when they needed it most.

[ She keeps the light touches up, as long as he does not push her away, she is there. Touching, caring, lovingly, as much as he lets her. ]

Meals for the week, blankets, oils to help keep the room clean.

[ He doesn't make a move to turn her away, or shrug off the gentle passes of her hands. It's as close as he can come to forgiving himself, allowing it. He sniffs and looks at her. ]

Oils?

[ There is a little nod. ]

Yes, oils. Lavender and rosemary. They keep insects and mice away.

Oh. [ The room could probably use something like that. It's not exactly sanitary. Hellboy feels a mote of shame that she knows they need it.

Carefully, he reaches up to touch her arm, skating back until he can cover her hand on his shoulder. ]

Thank you.

Of course any time you want me to help, I will be here. You shall never deter me.

[ But, there she pauses looking over him in a far more astute fashion. ]

You are first, however. I know little of such things but I do not think having blood drying on your body helps a wound heal well?

Edited 2021-01-04 14:22 (UTC)

[ Hellboy follows her gaze down at himself, the scuffed and stained bandaging that Harley had wrapped around him. ]

I guess not. [ He frowns and starts searching for where the bandages start with his fingertips. ] I should take a shower.

[ She looks at him most seriously and even with everything the city made them into, there is not even a hint of irony when she speaks. ]

Did you want me to join you?

[...

And then a second later, she realises how that sounded, her cheeks going pink. ] ... to help with cleaning the blood, of course.

[ For a moment, Hellboy's surprised out of the morass of his miserable thoughts. He sees the pink flush over her cheeks and a ghost of a smile appears on his mouth. ]

You don't have to do that.

[ There it stays, but like always, she pushes on. ]

No, but if it will help? I do not want water to get into the wound, and I am uniquely gifted to help with that.

[ She has a point. But he doesn't want to push her where she doesn't want to go, especially not now, so soon after -- ]

That's true. [ A flicker of a frown crosses his face as he thinks about it. He touches the bandages around his abdomen with his fingertips. ] Maybe you could -- Harley tied them up at the back, I think.

[ She is always better with something to do, that at least was true from here to home. Sitting down beside him, she begins to untie the knots of the bandages.

That for someone who does not violence so well, she does not seem phases by the blood and mess. Though there is a sympathetic hiss on her lips as she reveals the wound. ]

My heart, what a state you are in.

[ It's not exactly the sort of situation Hellboy likes to be in, but he grits his teeth and lets it happen, knowing she probably has a point about taking care of things. The wounds uncovered as the bandages come off aren't deep, more like shallow gashes the width of Anduin's sword, one low on his side and other in a direct line higher on his back where the point of the blade punched out of him.

He looks down at her as she tugs them off, trying not to appear too sheepish. ]

I've had worse.

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