AU-ish. Crack pairing. A stab at clichéd conventions.
When she stumbles into his hive, skin and clothes splattered with cerulean and specks of other colors he can't be bothered to identify for he's too busy accounting for how much of it she's lost, he feels something grip at his chest like a vice.
He says nothing though, lets her collapse on the floor a few steps in, because he knows she would hate it if he coddled her (it wasn't his job anyway, he wasn't her moirail), and antagonizing her while she was in this state was something he wouldn't do if he could help it, kismesis or not.
Later, as he fixes up her wounds, occasionally forcing himself to smirk and not flinch when she hisses at the burning sensation of the disinfectant, he wonders why he hasn't called anyone yet, anyone who would probably be better at this than him. He wonders why he's taking this task upon himself, why he's even bothering.
She winces as she turns on her side, and his mismatched eyes spot a treacherous bead of clear blue roll down her cheek, which he ignores for both their sakes. Her new position gives him a rather disturbing view of a deep, long gash that runs down her back, as if someone had dragged a knife across it.
He sees red and blue as static crackles the air around them.
Then she laughs weakly, and shoots him a bloodstained grin from over her shoulder.
"I got them back good for that."
The words are a pathetic attempt to ease him, but the sound of her voice is enough to bring him back to the task at hand. He decides to leave the interrogation to later, and promises to punish her properly once she's healed completely.
Both of them are silent for a while. When he's done, her eyes are already closed, and she's snoring softly.
He carries her in his arms, but only because levitating her with his psionics might agitate her wounds, nothing more.
Really.
He chooses to ignore the fact that he's done it before, levitated her while she was injured. She said it made her wounds itch. He used to do it anyway, just to annoy her, before all these… weird thoughts.
As she dozes off in his recuperacoon, he frowns, because he thinks blood and tears and pain should have nothing to do with her.
Not if he isn't the one causing it.
But sometimes, and those times are becoming alarmingly frequent, he doesn't really want to do that.
A/N: Quadrant flipping is hard. Its hard and everyone understands but can't do shit about it.