redrighthanded | IC; Duplicity Inbox

[ 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.

[ She makes a weak little laugh. Trying not to make him feel worse than he already was. ]

I am afraid that gives me no comfort. But it is no matter I will take it as a sign of your return to good health soon.

[ But as it comes undone and she finally has him free, she bundles up the bloody bandages. ]

Sure hope so. [ Hellboy looks down at himself, not liking the sight of the blood dried in various shades of red and black against his deep crimson skin, or the sword wound itself a bright slash across his abdomen. His shorts aren't a pretty sight either. Next to Gilia's elegance, he feels like some wild animal, stained and bruised up.

With a grimace, he hauls himself to his feet. ]

Jeez. I'm gonna go wash up. [ He'll let her decide if she really does want to follow or not. ]

[ In any other circumstances - they both no doubt know, it would be out of the question. She is hardly a woman to go throwing herself about into another's arms when the city did not make it so. Far, far too shy for that.

But his wound throws the rest out. He needs tending, care, properly done. Her modesty could and would be damned for the need to look after another.

Though he does have a few minutes to undressed, get the water running, where she goes about the first task that needs to be done in her mind for when he gets out of that shower. Clean sheets. First, the windows opened, to air it all out. The bed is stripped, the old sheets off to the side to be scrubbed, and the new ones laid out. Though she does it with the efficiency of someone very used to it, and it does not take her long at all. She can finish putting the new ones on when they were both out.

That ten or so minutes late, she slips in, gently closing the door behind her. Carefully, she undoes the buttons on her fine clothes and sets them aside. All a very ridiculous ensemble, she is a woman that dresses immaculately to expectation, that as she begins to undo her dress, she has the same fastidious nature with. Standing there in his bathroom in nothing but her matching lingerie, stockings and heels like it was her own chambers, and all of this was fairly normal, folding the dress up and setting it aside.

Clearing her throat, to attempt like this somehow was business as usual for them both. She cannot imagine the amount of pain he is in, and he does not need her squirming in embarrassment over things that were as unimportant. ]

I hope you are being careful with it?

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