butterfly_knives | (no subject)

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It's late. Or early. Zhou doesn't really know what time it is only that he's been at his garden for awhile, getting things ready for an early Spring harvest. He'd considered just sleeping out there on the thin mat he's left out there but decides, in the end, that he should go home.

It turns out to have been a bad decision.

Zhou knows he's being followed but he decides to pay the group no mind. If they don't pick up a whiff of fear, perhaps they'll find something else to waste their time on. Mentally though, he's preparing. Readying himself for a fight. The last time he'd been faced with unfavorable odds, he'd wound up tied to a chair, bleeding and gasping for air.

Hopefully this time isn't like that.

The footsteps grow closer and Zhou resigns himself to a fight, one that he might not win. So, he whirls around and finds himself facing two large men, both with shiny, sharp knives at their sides. That's not what draws his attention, though. There are fangs splitting their lower lips, allowing slow streams of blood to trickle down their chins.

There is going to be no talking his way out of this one so Zhou doesn't even try. He just shoots forward, barreling into one man and taking him down. The wind is swiftly knocked out of him so Zhou pushes up and then punches down with everything he has. The element of surprise allows him time to get in two hits before the other man kicks him. Hard.

Zhou goes flying off the other man and spits blood, feeling it filling his mouth. He's probably bitten his tongue or his cheek but his jaw doesn't feel broken. That's good. He staggers to his hands and knees and is immediately met by another kick. This time he actually spits blood. Jaw's still not broken.

Groaning, he rolls onto his back and holds up his wallet, just wanting this to be done with so he can go and lick his wounds. Both men are up and they're grinning, fanged teeth crimson stained.

"We don't want your money," one says in a low, rough, ragged voice. "We're hungry."

Zhou doesn't really understand that but he throws his wallet at their feet anyway. They ignore it and come toward him, yanking him up by his shirt. It tears and he stupidly thinks about how he's going to have to get a new one.

He's on autopilot know and as one comes closer with those teeth, he kicks, catching the other man in the kneecap, making him stumble. But, he's outnumbered so he can't stop the first man from slashing the knife across his chest hard enough to tear his shirt, deep enough to bleed. It hurts and he cries out, unable to stop himself.

"We'll just have to break you down before we get to the fun stuff," he croons before slashing again, this time low on his belly. They're not stab wounds but they hurt. They hurt and they bleed and he's already seeing stars. It doesn't help that the one who's kneecap he just kicked is back up and proceeds to use that knee to smash Zhou's face into.

Pain explodes and he hits the ground, seeing nothing but the black of night and feeling nothing but his battered body and blood.

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Beth knows if some people were to go through her bag on any given day, the very best reaction she could hope for would be that they'd think she was a total weirdo. She'd be lucky if they didn't just flat out call the cops and tell them she's some kind of psycho, but she just likes to be prepared for just about anything. Maybe there aren't walkers in Darrow and maybe she's not living in the same world she used to, but she knows by now just how many dangerous things lurk in the dark here and so she's made sure to arm herself. At all times.

She doesn't carry a crossbow anymore, but in her bag is her knife, a silver cross -- a combination of what people have told her works on vampires and the sort of werewolves who'll actually attack -- and a wooden stake. She's prepared for just about anything, but as she's walking home and she suddenly sees the scuffle, it's the cross around her throat she grabs for first.

At first she doesn't even see it's Zhou on the ground. Beth just drops her bag beside him and steps forward and shoves the cross into the face of the vampire closest to her. He shrieks and recoils, the scent of burning flesh in the air and Beth takes a step back, standing between them and Zhou, though she still hasn't glanced down at him.

"Back off," she says. "I can do worse than that."

There's someone else here. Zhou can hear the sound of someone's voice through the whooshing and fuzziness in his head and ears. He tries to pick up his head but he gets dizzy and can do nothing more than groan and curl up into a ball. He starts scrabbling his way onto his hands and knees so he can get up but it's such a struggle.

The two vampires regroup quickly enough, eyes averted from the cross. They're not going to let some girl, some little flower, ruin their fun.

"You wish," one spits, already coming closer, knife raised in the air. The cross means he's moving slower, careful but he's not going to be deterred. The other vampire tries to circle around her to box her in. The one with the knife takes a swipe at her with the blade, hoping to catch her off guard and leave her on her back foot for a moment or two.

Zhou's still struggling to get to his feet. He's losing blood a little too quickly for his liking but he can deal. He has to deal because he can't not help whoever this is.

Beth knows better than to dance back from the blade of the knife, she knows they're trying to knock her off balance and so instead she ducks down, grabs for her bag at the same time. Her knife is within easy reach and it's not the stake she'd rather have, but it's comfortable in her hand.

She's better with her knife than the vampire is with his and she smiles where she's crouching, a knowing expression. The vampire looking at her falters, though just for a moment. He hadn't expected that smile and it makes her feel good, knowing this is still something she can do. Maybe she doesn't look like much, but Beth is a lot tougher than people expect.

Flipping the knife, she holds it in a down grip, making it easier for her to stab with and the vampire tries to mimic her. She takes the chance to drop the cross she wears around her neck and grabs for the thicker silver cross in her bag and it's then, risking a glance toward her bag, that she realizes just who she's protecting.

She can't let them see it, though, and so she rises anyway, nudging her bag toward Zhou with her foot. If they see that Zhou means something to get, that puts them both in more danger. He's losing a lot of blood from what she can see, but she needs to treat him like he's a stranger. At least for now.

"There's a wooden stake in there," she tells him. "Get it out."

Wooden stake. She's talking to him and it's only then that Zhou squints through the pain and the haze to look and see a familiar fall of blonde hair. He knows who that is and his heart lurches, drops, stops, starts. She wasn't supposed to be here and she wasn't supposed to be involved in this. But, she's there now, standing between him and these two goons so he listens.

His movements are slow, jerky and he has to stop and cough a few times. He doesn't think his nose is broken but he can't be sure. The slashes on his chest and stomach are still oozing blood and every single time he moves, the gashes pull and he gasps, whimpers and curses.

But, his hands manage to close around a stake and he holds it, not sure what she wants him to do with it.

The vampires are closing in despite being caught on their back feet just a moment ago. One keeps an eye on the grounded man but he's rifling through a bag and not a factor right now.

"Little girl, we were perfectly happy with him," one says, nodding at Zhou. "We'll still be happy with him if you wanna take your stuff and walk away. No harm, no foul. It'll all be good!"

They both grin and then one lunges, trying to wrap a meaty arm around her neck to choke her out and leave her easy pickings for the both of them.

Beth snorts in response to the offer, knowing it's bullshit even as it's said, and she's ready for the one who lunges at her. Maybe she's never fought vampires before, but she's fought other things and her primary goal right now isn't even to kill them, it's to make sure they get out of here and she can get Zhou somewhere safe. She's terrified, but her need to keep him safe overrides that fear.

She brings the hand with the knife around quickly in a flurry of motion, stabbing from a low angle, up and into the vampire's ribs over and over. He lets out a howl of pain and takes a surprised step back just as she shoves the silver cross forward at the same time, jamming it hard into his face. His flesh sizzles and he steps back further, clutching his face and his ribs, blood seeping out between his fingers.

"Gimme that," she says, dropping the cross in front of Zhou and snapping her fingers for the stake. He's hurt and her heart is hammering and she needs to do something to protect him.

Because she cares about him so much and this can't be it. This cannot be how this happens, she can't let him get hurt.

It's a marvel that Zhou manages to get to his feet. He's holding the stake in one hand, barely, but he's up and he's trying to focus enough to help. His vision doubles but comes back just in time to watch her make quick work of one of the vampires. He stumbles to one side, testing his legs. They're jelly and he knows that it's the result of trauma, of blood loss but he's not about to just lay there and let her do everything.

With one vampire out of commission, burned and stabbed, the other one is still there, looking angry, menacing. Zhou wonders if he has left in him to run at him, tackle him, take him down and help her do whatever she can do with the assortment of things she has in this bag.

Before Zhou can think to do anything, she's asking him for the stake and he gives it to her. Beth is looking and acting like nothing he's ever seen before and later, he'll appreciate it, he knows. He's too out of it, in too much pain to really enjoy her avenging angel guise right now.

The other vampire advances, eyes on the stake. He gets close enough to swing, throw a punch to try and knock her senseless. He's bigger, she's a girl and he thinks he can catch her off guard.

Zhou lurches forward to try and help, grabbing for his other arm and yanking him backwards. His strength is waning and his movements have put a strain on his already aching body but he can't not help her.

What he doesn't see is the other vampire, the one who'd been burned, coming closer and swinging at the back of his head with the hilt of his knife. Zhou goes down and doesn't get back up.

It's just her and two vampires, one who's stumbling a bit and another who's burned, bloody and angry.

When Zhou is hit, when he goes down, Beth can't help the way she glances at him, the fear that flashes in her eyes. The vampire in front of her, the one she hasn't hurt yet, he definitely notices, but it doesn't worry Beth much at all. His mistake is that he thinks it's a weakness. He sees the expression she's wearing and thinks it makes her less of a threat because she feels something for the man they've hurt.

He has no idea what she's really like, though. That the fear is what propels her, that the way she cares for people is what makes her strong, and when he flashes a grin, Beth's gaze snaps back to him and her eyes go hard.

"What're you laughin' at?" she asks and without waiting for an answer she rushes him. He grabs her, but she uses that momentum to help carry her forward, using the entirety of her weight to drive the stake forward. It's hard, pushing a piece of wood through skin and bone, but she can do it, she's shoved knives through skulls, rotten though they may have been, and she can do this, too.

By the time he realizes it's happening, it's too late for the vampire to push her away. He falls backward, hitting the sidewalk and Beth's knees slam into the cement on either side of his torso. She'll be brutally bruised tomorrow, but in the moment she doesn't even feel it, just concentrates on driving that stake deeper into him. When he crumbles into ash it shocks her, but she can't let that show.

Instead she turns, looks over her shoulder at the one she'd burned and then stands. Her legs are shaking, but she has to stand her ground, she has to frighten him into leaving, because she doesn't think she can fight anymore. For a long moment she thinks she might have to, but there must be something in her face that frightens him, because he just looks back at her for a second before he turns on his heel and runs.

As soon as she's sure he's gone, she nearly collapses, her muscles trembling with the exertion, with adrenaline, and she drops into a crouch and half drags herself to where Zhou has fallen. The stake clatters to the cement beside him and she reaches for him, her hands roaming over his wounds, checking his pulse before she cups his face between her palms.

"Zhou," she whispers before clearing her throat and forcing her voice louder. "Zhou, c'mon. You gotta help me here, you gotta be okay."

Her voice sounds like it's coming from very, very far away. He thinks the fact that he hears her at all is a good sign though. She's touching him and her hands are warm and soft. His mother's hands had been like that too. He wonders if his own hands had felt like that when he'd held his mother as she died.

Not a good memory, not a good thing to get lost in so he tries to wake up. He can't stay here forever, not when she's calling him, not when she seems to be worried. The last thing he wants to do is be a cause for concern so he hefts his eyes open a slit.

At first, she's blurry and there are two of her. When he closes his eyes and then opens them again, there's just one of her and no one else. How she'd done what she did, Zhou doesn't know but he's glad for it.

"J- Jason," he says without thinking. He doesn't know why. He doesn't know where it comes from. Maybe he's scared that if he dies, no one will know his actual name. The name his mother gave him. The name he doesn't use because he'd wanted to keep it so private.

Right now, he just wants someone else to know it. "I'm Jason." He doesn't move much after that, trying to get his bearings and to ignore how nice her hands feel on his cheeks. He shouldn't be having those, thoughts, he knows, but he's weak and he hurts and he just wants someone to help him.

"Where'd they go?" he asks, trying to push himself up into a sitting position, at least. He hisses and winces but still tries to get up because he can't be a burden, can't be someone's obligation no matter how much he might want to be sometimes.

Edited 2018-03-23 12:10 (UTC)

Beth laughs when he tells her his name is Jason, a relieved, shaking sound that's closer to a sob than a real laugh and she doesn't really know what to do with that information, but she also isn't worried about it right now. She'll call him whatever he wants her to, so long as he's still alive for her to address him at all.

"Okay, Jason," she says softly and she thinks, if not for her concern that his nose might be broken, she would kiss him in that moment. As it is, she doesn't pull back, she stays there with her hands gently touching his face and she gives another little relieved laugh before she drops her head on a spur of the moment decision. She still doesn't kiss him, but for just a second she presses her forehead against his, heedless of any blood, and closes her eyes. Her heart is still thundering in her chest, but she lets herself take a deep breath and feels that he's still there as a reminder that everything has turned out all right.

"Careful," she says, pulling back when he tries to sit up. She keeps her hands on him, though one drops gently to his shoulder, trying to guide him into a sitting position since he seems determined to get up either way. "They're, um... one's dead. The other one's gone. He ran off."

That doesn't mean he won't be back, maybe even in the next few minutes if he's angry with her for having been able to chase him off. They probably shouldn't sit here longer than absolutely necessary, but she doesn't want to push him too hard either.

Jason. How long has it been since he'd heard that name out of someone's mouth? Months. It had been Daiyu the last time and now, it's Beth. His friends, the four people that he trusted despite rarely trusting anyone, hadn't known his first name for years until they'd made him into a you and sent him off.

For the first time, he's voluntarily told someone. It should make him afraid, worried that now she's way too close and there's no going back but he can't think about that right now. The physical pain overwhelms almost anything. That is until she presses her forehead against his and rests there. He breathes in, forgets about the pain, forgets about his past just for a second. If his body were working a little better, he might have done something that they both might regret.

Eventually, with her help, he works himself up into a sitting position. He clasp one hand over the wound on his chest, feeling the sticky blood coat his palm. There's no sign of the men who had attacked him and Jason can't do anything but peer over at her with something akin to wonder and admiration.

"All right." They're gone. One for good and one who could come back at anytime and bring reinforcements. He doesn't like their odds.

"Are you okay?" Jason asks, blinking at her to try and further focus his vision. Things are still a little blurry at the edges and his jaw and nose ache but he has to know that, has to check on her before he can get up and send her home.

"Do you think you can get yourself home?" he asks her in the next breath, once again not wanting to bother her with his own troubles. He's already made her do too much and now he just wants to crawl home, get some bandages on his wounds and stay there for awhile.

When she laughs this time, it's with surprise, and Beth shakes her head, looking at him with wonder. He's been injured and from the looks of it, he's going to need a bit of help standing, never mind getting him all the way to his place and she's not about to let him try that on his own. Not in the state he's currently in.

"I'm not goin' home," she says. "Not unless you're comin' with me. You need someone to patch you up and I don't like how much you're still bleeding."

Even more than that, she doesn't like the odds of him heading home on his own and maybe running into that vampire again. He'd been afraid of Beth, but he won't be once he gets reinforcements and maybe she's overthinking it, maybe he won't bother with them, but if there's even a chance he might, she's not about to leave Zhou without help. Darrow isn't always this dangerous, but she can't pretend something really bad didn't happen tonight.

With one final, gentle stroke of her fingers against his cheek, Beth gives him a small smile, then moves away to collect her weapons. She scoops the silver cross up from the sidewalk and holds it out toward Zhou, then grabs the stake and tucks it into her belt, her knife in the other side.

Once she's on her feet, she offers him her hands. "Come on," she says. "Let's get goin'."

Jason had known that wouldn't work. He wouldn't be able to send her away that easily despite the fact that he thinks she needs to leave. Not because he doesn't want her there (he does) but because he still thinks she's doing this because of what he's said and what she thinks he wants. He doesn't know how to get her to leave without being nasty and he's too sore for that.

It doesn't help that she strokes his cheek and he, like the weak person he is, leans into it, trying to chase her fingers when she pulls away. When he realizes that he's doing that, he frowns and looks away.

His eyes fall on her hands but he doesn't immediately take them even if he knows he needs the help. The wounds on his body are aching, screaming, stinging but he doesn't want her to know how bad they are.

"I'm fine. Go home. Go far away from me before this happens again." He tries futilely to roll onto his knees in the hopes that he can get to his feet that way. He can't. He sags back to the ground. "You don't need to bother with me any more than you have."

He doesn't know why she's out so late and how her bag got to be so well stocked but she'd helped him far more than he's ever helped her. He plants one foot on the ground and curses in Mandarin at the pain even that causes.

"I've no first aid supplies at my apartment so I have to go get those anyway," he says, a lie but a convenient one. "You can go."

"Then I guess we're goin' to my place after all," she says, her hands still extended toward him. She curls her fingers in a come on gesture, indicating that she wants him to take her hands so she can help him to his feet. They have to get him up, they have to get moving, but she's not leaving and she knows he's stubborn, but he has no idea who he's tangling with when it comes to being willful. Beth is the baby of her family, spoiled to a certain degree, given most everything she could have ever wanted and people have flung that toward her as an insult more than a few times, but she doesn't mind.

She's not spoiled anymore and that assumption that she'll get what she wants has transformed into a different sort of stubbornness. The kind that means she's not about to leave someone behind when they so clearly need help, especially not someone she cares for as much as Jason.

"I got plenty of bandages and antiseptic creams," she promises. "You live through the end of the world and you learn to keep a well stocked first aid kit. We both know I'm not gonna leave you here and I'm in way better shape than you are right now, so let's skip the argument you wanna have and just get to the point where you realize I'm gonna win."

It's so selfish, but she wants to put him somewhere she can watch him, too. She wants to sit beside him and have him lean into her. He'd wanted more of her touch on his face, she'd seen that plainly, and it's not like she wouldn't love to just sit here with him, touching him, having him touch her, but they need to get off the street. And he's hurt, too, she can't just do whatever she wants when he's injured.

She just doesn't want him to be alone yet.

Jason wonders if even being nasty, being mean and downright cruel, would send her away in a situation like this. Probably not. She's got too big a heart and Jason thinks she would still help him but there would be none of that touching she's just bestowed upon him. He shouldn't want more of that but he does. That coupled with the fact that she doesn't deserve his nastiness means he relents and reaches up to take her hands.

It's still difficult to get to his feet because the knife wounds on his body are in places that seem to be involved in every aspect of moving and walking. The laceration on his chest is still oozing blood though the flow has slowed. The one his stomach has stopped for the moment but Jason doesn't know how long that will last. With every breath he takes, the wound burns and burns and burns

"Fine, you win," he tells her, settling his dark eyes on hers. He's willing to go with her right now but he makes no promises on how long he'll stay. Maybe he'll be able to sneak out when her back is turned. Or when she's gone to another room.

Or maybe he'll stay and just try to keep his emotions in check.

Now that he's on his feet, he wobbles, legs shaky. He takes a few steps, wild and uncoordinated to try and get his balance back underneath him. Once he does, he breathes, holding his chest and trying not to let her see how badly that had hurt.

"Thank you," she says with a sweet smile, but her gaze is still sharp and she's watching him carefully. Trying to get him to lean on her while they walk might be too much and she doesn't want to push her luck right now, not when she's convinced him to come home with her in the first place, but she sticks close to him, ready at any moment to catch him if he should sway or start to fall. It means she can't carry any of her weapons at the ready like she would like to, but she's okay with that. They're not far from her apartment and she's aware of their surroundings.

In another block, anyway, they'll come across a row of restaurants and bars, places where people will be coming and going, some of them outside smoking, and they won't be in as much danger.

She doesn't say anything else until they're on that well lighted block and then she steps closer to Jason, she presses her fingertips gently to his back so she can guide him along the sidewalk, through the clumps of people here and there, and hope no one looks at him and sees the extent of his injuries. He won't go to a hospital again, she's pretty sure of that. They get lucky, though, and no one really pays much attention to them and it's not long until they're turning the corner and her building is right there.

"Almost there," she murmurs, digging out her keys. She puts the stake and knife back in her bag where they come to rest against the silver cross, against her other weapons, mostly because she doesn't want to scare Carl is he's still awake. Chances are he'll be asleep, which is for the best. She kind of doubts Jason will be willing to stay if they're not alone.

The elevator brings them up to her floor and she unlocks the front door, then sets her bag down and takes him by the shoulders and guides him toward the living room. "You sit," she orders, pointing at the couch. "And don't even think about goin' anywhere. I'll be right back."

Jason doesn't look at her, doesn't look at his surroundings as they walk. He knows what he has to look like and he doesn't want to see anyone staring at him. It wouldn't happen in Taipei because the sight of a mei bloody and beaten was not an unfamiliar sight. He's grateful that Beth is right there, that he knows someone, someone who is apparently very tough and will probably rip into anyone that says anything to him.

They walk and walk and his body protests with every step. He steels himself to not shake or fall over but every single footstep makes him more exhausted. It seeps into his bones, flows through his veins and makes him want to sit down and just stay there. But, she's not going to let him do that so he keeps going, one foot in front of another.

Before he realizes it, they're in her apartment and if he were more aware, he'd probably look around to see what things looked like. Instead, she takes charge and and sits him down on her couch. He sinks into it and sighs, appreciating the softness at his back. But then he starts worrying that he's going to bleed on her furniture and, once she's out of sight, he stands up, stepping away from the couch and trying to find a spot that, if he is to bleed, he can clean easily.

It means finding a corner and leaning against it but it's still better than the ground. He holds an arm across his stomach and swipes his other hand across his nose. It hurts but it's not the hurt that means it's broken, probably. He hopes not, at least.

He stands there and waits, contemplating leaving but not actually following through. Not right now. Maybe in a little bit.

When she returns carrying towels, a first aid bag, and a small bowl for warm water, she's surprised to find him standing in a corner instead of sitting on the couch. It takes her a second to realize why, because even after all this time she's not sure she's quite adjusted to the idea that furniture and carpets and stuff like that are the kinds of things people worry about getting dirty. For so long she'd slept on whatever was available, stained mattresses, couches with more blood visible than the original fabric, anything that she could find that was comfortable and the couch in their living room now has seen a few injuries already.

"It's okay," she says, then lays a towel over the cushions to make it easier for him. "Come on, Jason, sit."

It's still a little odd, calling him by a different name, but she only wants him to be comfortable. To be happy. And if he wants her to use his first name now -- she'll explore the reasons why he might want that later -- then she will. It's not such a hard shift.

Rather than leading him back to the couch, she sets down the first aid bag, then goes into the small kitchen to fill up the bowl with warm water. She washes her hands thoroughly, then grabs a few small, clean rags from their place under the counter and returns to the living room to set the bowl with the water on the coffee table.

"You're gonna need to take off your jacket and your shirt," she tells him. "It's okay. I gotta see how bad it is."

He feels out of place, like an intruder. Her home is a home whereas his apartment is barely lived in. He sleeps there sometimes, when he sleeps, but it's mostly a key in his pocket. He doesn't think it belongs to him. The little building on the fringes of the city is more comfortable but even that's strange. It doesn't make sense to peer out the window and not see a broken landscape.

So, it takes him a second to move closer to her. Before he sits down, he shrugs his jacket off. The shirt underneath is ripped, torn and bloody so it's easy to slide over his head. The cut on his stomach is long, slightly gaping and probably in need of stitches that he's not going to allow himself to get. It's stopped bleeding but there is dirt and blood caked around it.

The wound on his chest nearly stops his heart. The cut slices across the color of his tattoo, cutting the calla lily nearly in half. His breathing seems to quicken and he feels like his mother's dying again. That was all he had of her, right there, and now it's marred by open skin and blood.

"I'm sorry, I tried." The words are small, vulnerable and he finally sits down after that, still shaken by what he's seen. He licks his lips, grateful that at least that doesn't hurt before he finally looks at her. And looks. And looks.

She's such a good thing and he's going to ruin her if he stays around. He knows it. He has to leave as soon as he can.

"Oh, no," Beth breathes softly when she sees the way the knife has cut straight through the tattoo. They hadn't talked about it much, but the way he'd sounded, the way he'd looked at it, it had been so easy to see how much it means to him and now it's been marred by the vampire's knife. If she insists he gets stitches, they'll probably only lead to more scarring, they might only make matters worse, but she has to do something for him.

For a moment, her fingers touch his chest just above the tattoo, pressing lightly to his skin as if she can somehow fix this just by touch. Then she looks up and finds him looking at her and she smiles, though it's touched with sadness. She dips one of the rags into the warm water, wrings it out carefully and then she uses it to begin to gently wipe away the blood and dirt from his skin. Although she focuses on his stomach first, she's still trying to work out what might be best for the wound on his chest, considering the supplies she has. She dips a second rag into the water and then presses it into Jason's hand.

"Here," she says. "You can use this on your face. I think... I've got some of that artificial skin. I think I can use that on your chest and then bandage it. That'll be better for the tattoo than stitches." As long as she can get it tight enough, the edges of his skin close together so they heal properly. "I've got some painkillers, too, you should take those once I'm done. Then you should rest. Here. If you go wandering around after we're done you're just gonna end up makin' it worse."

"You don't have to do all this." He can't help but say it even if the protestation is weaker than many of his previous arguments have been. He doesn't know if he should be alone right now but he can't help but thinking it's what he needs to be. She's got responsibilities that aren't him so he just feels like he's putting her out more and more with every single thing that she wants to do for him.

He takes the rag she offers him and lets his eyes drop down to the wound on his chest. If he were back home, he could probably figure out a way to get it fixed but the technology here isn't the same as it is in Taipei. It's going to heal but scar. It's never going to be quite the same.

"I'm all right now," Jason says though it's slightly muffled by the washrag he's using to clean the blood off his face. He winches and flinches whenever he hits a particularly tender spot and her rag is is smeared in blood when he thinks he's finished. He sighs at that too because it's just another thing he's ruined. The good news is that he can breathe and his nose doesn't feel cracked or broken.

"I can go home and sleep this off," he says because he thinks that. He thinks it will get him out of her hair and her house where she has other people to think about, people that don't know him. "I can go."

"Stop, okay?" Beth asks, pausing in her ministrations to look at him, reaching up with one hand to cover his, her fingers closing over both his hand and the rag he's still holding. "Stop it. When I saw it was you, when they hit you like that and you went down, I... my heart was in my throat. You got no idea how scared I was that they'd really hurt you. I'm not just gonna send you back out there in the dark like this. You're hurt and you need to rest before you go anywhere."

And if he insists on going, she'll just call a cab for him and then go sit in the damn thing with him to make sure he gets home okay. She'll stay with him and wake him up every hour just to make sure he still can wake up and she'll call a damn ambulance if it gets any worse, even if he protests. She's lost too many people in Darrow and she knows she can't change that, can't bring them back or make it so she doesn't lose anyone else, but she sure as hell can make sure she doesn't love anyone prematurely.

"This isn't a joke. It's not like you scraped your knee and I'm fussin' over you because I'm being stupid. You're really hurt, you might even have a concussion. I can't let you go home and fall asleep on your own, because what if you don't wake up again?" she asks, then lets his hand go so she can continue to wipe the blood and dirt from his skin. When she's satisfied, she takes another cloth and gently begins to wipe the water away, then reaches for some of the gauze, laying it carefully over the wound on his stomach.

"Y'know, for awhile, I thought maybe I'd go to school to be a nurse," she tells him as she works, as if she hasn't just gently told him off. "I used to do all the first aid stuff at the prison. Wrapping sprained ankles, stitching wounds, stuff like that. When my dad's leg had to be amputated, I ended up helping with the recovery."

"I don't think you're stupid." That was the last thing he thought. He was the stupid one, the one that caused the problems. He couldn't keep his mouth shut and he couldn't stop himself from getting hurt and now he couldn't stop himself from thinking things that he should not be thinking when she was trying to take care of him. But, she's touched him more today than ever and he's not immune.

He's just stupid.

He doesn't know what else to say so he just sucks in a breath when she starts bandaging the laceration on his stomach. It's sensitive and stinging and the pressure nearly doubles him over but he knows it has to be done. He grips the bloody, dirty rag so hard that his knuckles turn white.

He tries to concentrate on her voice while she does what she's going to do and nods to signal that he's listening. He's trying to listen. And when she quiets, Jason starts to say that he has no way to pay her but, thankfully, those words do not reach his lips. Something stops them and it's probably for the best. That might have been enough to truly hurt her.

"You're good at it," he murmurs instead, closing his eyes against the onslaught of achy pain that's currently crowding his body. The worst of the pain is what she's attending to right now but his jaw aches and his nose is throbbing but he's not going to die.

Not today.

"I'm sorry I frightened you," he eventually says. "It wasn't intentional. I wish you didn't have to see this. Didn't have to see me like this. I don't know what's wrong with me."

Right now, he doesn't just mean physically. He can't seem to do anything right. Can't seem to keep his own feelings in check and away from those whose lives would be better without him.

"I won't take up anymore of your time than I have to," he tells her, nodding. "I promise."

"Nothin' is wrong with you," she answers, gently smoothing tape into place over the gauze, making sure nothing is going to move the bandage, so long as he doesn't go running around. They're both being so vague and they could both very well be referring to the injuries he's sustained, to everything that's happened tonight, but she knows they aren't. Without saying too much, they're both trying to say more and she wishes she could just take his hand and press it against her cheek and close her eyes. Just for a moment.

It's like he doesn't understand and she doesn't know how to make him short of shutting him up with a kiss. Earlier she might have, she'd been so frightened, so worried, but she's had time to calm down and she's back to second guessing herself, which is as annoying as anything else. When she thinks about him, she knows she wants him. She wants to be with him. She wants it to not be such an impossible thing to sit with him on the couch like this and curl up against his side and feel the warmth of him along her body. She wants to press her ear to his chest and listen to the beating of his heart. She wants to make him smile, to drag him along with her to lavish parties, to find dark corners in the gardens Magnus creates where she can pull him against her and kiss him until they're both breathless.

But she's still afraid it's too soon. She's afraid she can't trust herself. She's never been like this before. It's annoying and she's angry with herself.

"I like you any way I get to see you," she says instead, which is true. Then she rattles around in the first aid bag again and returns with the artificial skin and more bandages. His chest has bled less and it's easier for her to clean it, but she takes her time with this, making sure to get every last bit of dirt and blood away from the wound. She's closer to him now than she'd been before, her gaze steady on the tattoo, but she glances up at him briefly and her eyes linger for a moment on his mouth before she meets his gaze.

"This might hurt," she warns. "But I wanna get it as tight as possible and hopefully the scar won't be too bad. Okay?"

There's a lot wrong with him. There are many things that lay hidden within his head and heart that she doesn't know that will drive her away, he's certain. If he ever gets around to telling her, he knows that she will change her tune. They won't have moments like this, where she's so passionate about helping him. He wouldn't be surprised if she passed him on the street without so much as a second look.

He would deserve it and take it willingly. Of course, he doesn't want that to happen, not with her, but he knows what he's done, what terrible things he's done.

He's not going to tell her anything right now. Jason's feeling greedy and selfish despite his assertions to the contrary. He wants her to know that she can make him leave but that doesn't mean he wants to go. That doesn't mean he wants to be away from her at all.

He doesn't.

And when he catches her looking at his lips, the armor around his control chinks a bit. He bites his lower lip, disguising it as a way to fight off the pain. And it does hurt. It stings a lot. So much that he reaches out blindly and grabs her shoulder, fingers digging in firmly. It's not enough to hurt her but it helps him focus.

It's pure selfishness that drives his next move. Pure, unadulterated greed has him taking the hand that was on her shoulder and pressing it against her cheek lightly. Already, he can feel the doubts springing up in his mind, telling him why even this is a bad idea, why it's pushing her (something he doesn't ever want to do), and how he'd touched her without an invitation. His hand shakes a bit but he fights off the doubt for the moment.

Edited 2018-03-25 22:02 (UTC)

She works quietly, focusing on the cut on his chest, wanting to make sure she gets this right and makes it so he'll heal as well as possible. Even when he puts a hand on her shoulder, his fingers pressing into her skin, she doesn't stop. Where he's touching her, though, her skin feels especially warm and she thinks, if not for the fact that she's working on his wounds, she might give into the little shiver that wants to run down her spine. Instead she takes her time, concentrating on what she needs to do, but allowing herself to enjoy his touch, too. He's touched her more today than he has since the day they'd gone rock climbing and she knows she'd asked for some time and he'd said he would give it to her, but more and more she's wondering if she needs it.

Loving Curtis was easy, almost from the moment she met him. He'd been her best friend, her confidante, someone she had relied on and respected. Despite the way he'd thought of himself, she'd loved him for his kindness most of all. For the knowledge that he wanted her to be happy, the realization that he would have stayed her friend even if she had married Daryl and he would have loved her quietly and wished her well. For weeks she's been asking herself if it's too soon, if Curtis would be angry with her, but she feels like maybe she's always known the answer to that.

He would want her to be happy. To live her life. This is all she has left, after all. Just Darrow.

So when Jason's hand lifts to her cheek, she pauses for a moment, her hand falling still at his chest and she's glad she's already finished bandaging him. Her other hand lifts as well, reaching up and covering his as she turns her face slightly, into his touch, her eyes slipping closed. Her heart feels like it's thundering in her chest again, but she isn't afraid this time. Or if she is, it's the sort of fear she'll happily chase, because she knows at the end of it there's something she wants.

Her fingers curl over his hand and she turns her face further without letting herself think about it, without second guessing, and presses her lips to his palm.