Notes: I feel so rude for this being so late, but last month was alpetris's birthday (one of my tumblr friends), and I just wanted to write her something fluffy and season 1 related as my gift to her. That was my initial intention anyway. So, yes, this is supposed to happen sometime during season 1, preferably before the events of Insecurity (or maybe we can forget a lot of things and just leave this as its own thing). Regardless, I'm so sorry this is late, but happy birthday again darling.
Some girls will break you down
Some girls will break you down
Just to see you come undone
Everything's changing now
Maybe you and I are cursed
Maybe you and I are one
And that's the universe
Around, around she drags you
-Bonfire by Third Eye Blind
The bandages are pulled taut in almost every direction, and there's far more white than actual vibrant flesh to keep her settled. It makes her rattle internally, hands gripping and releasing at air because she can't really touch him or grab him fiercely. It's not allowed.
He's fine. He's just a little shaken, and ever perfect in bright yellow and scarlet that is bunched around his waist. He's exposed, and it makes her feel uncomfortable. She can see a lot more than the red curls of the untrimmed hair at the back of his neck that settle over flesh that's freckled and worn by the sun. He's more than skin. He's more than loud words and a chorusing rebellion. He's a blaze, and her grey eyes won't let go of the imagery or the electricity or the unwarranted heat he radiates. That's why she's scared.
He's not humming the same, his body is tense and the strain on his face is prominent, tugging his lips evenly apart in some twisted form of a smile that she wants to erase and forget. She wants to forget it all.
Everyone else seems fine though. They are all gathered, quiet. Little is said, but more is done. Maybe they realize the severity of it all or maybe they are aware of the simple fact that bodies aren't supposed to sound so hollow or empty when they were careening into the side of a building with that much force that you can't tell whether the building is broken or your teammate. They all held their breaths in that instance, in the wake of a sound that equated to bursting. The thought makes her raise her hands, and they are settling on either side of her head, gently pressing into the shells of her ears in an attempt to block out the sound that hasn't yet stopped echoing, bubbling.
"How are you feeling?" their great leader asks with a calm that halts any further thoughts of breaking and unraveling.
"Never better, ow." And he's somehow proven how wrong that statement is with those two words that breeze past clenched teeth. She can tell that he's feeling it, the way the words are clinging onto broken ribs.
"Or not." Two words from the English language that sound even worse now than they ever did. She feels her teeth grinding, and that really settles it.
"Ha! Very funny, Rob," he mutters a little less aggressively, "But really. Could have been a lot worse."
It's alarming how fast she finds the glass pressed between her digits let alone how her hand managed to riddle the sliding panel closed behind her. She forgets her own injuries, the cuts, the scratches, the stifling feel of something wrapped around her left wrist to hold it still so it can heal. It's just a sprain. It's nothing like splintering or shattering.
There's not much left she can think about in that moment. All she knows is that she has to move. She can't be still. Stillness only brought along with it the irregular thudding of her heart in her ears that hasn't really ceased since his hand twitched awake and the world became a few degrees warmer again.
They're all given orders to stay. And she really hates orders because they feel so confining. It makes it hard to sleep, makes it hard to really forget what happened in the last 24 hours when everything is so excruciatingly present and there. Her wrist aches, and it's probably the first time that day that she realizes it.
She doesn't bother trying to figure anything else out. Her movements are graceless and lacking in destination. All she knows is that it's past 1:45AM; the numbers had blared in bright blue up until the very minute when she decided leaving her room would be a little more productive.
And all of her efforts led her back to him. It was infuriating at best. The door was closed and just mocking her at this point with boundless metal that wouldn't just bend at her will. But even so, her hand is clenched into a fist that's so tight that her fingernails might just dig a little too far into the palm of her hand, and it's hovering dangerously close for tapping. Her brain suddenly makes the connection. He wouldn't be here anyway. He's supposed to be in the medical bay with wires attached. He'd be sleeping from the meds. Being here was absolutely pointless.
Her hand drops just as the door slides open and she's met with flustered red hair and eyes so green she might as well be walking through a sunlit field with grass growing up to the tops of her ankles. She roots her foot firmly behind her in hopes of regaining the little composure she had before.
"Wally! What are you doing here!?" she hisses. She tries to remember to keep these words low, but it's hard when there's an actual idiot in front of you in need of reprimanding. It doesn't mean she wants to draw any further attention to this ruckus though, especially when you have residents with sharp ears and quick reflexes. She tries to remember her inside voice at this point. "You're not supposed to be here."
He deflects almost immediately, "I could say the same for you."
It sounds pathetic, forced through an exhale that she can tell hasn't really gotten any better since the last time she saw him.
"How are you even standing?" Her tone is past the point of sounding incredulous.
He moves only one shoulder in his mock impression of a shrug. "Magic, I think."
And he seems so proud of himself that she kind of wants to hit him for it (she thinks better of it for his sake).
"Clearly, not only are you physically ill, but you've also managed to lose your great sense of sanity too," she bites back.
"Was the magic part too much? How about, I'm standing in all of my great efforts this evening because I didn't manage to break anything important in my legs. Bane can sure pack a wallop though. And maybe you would know all of this," he strains with a little effort, "if you waited a few minutes before running out of the room like you'd seen a ghost—"
"I wasn't running." She can feel a more prominent throbbing radiating from the center of her wrist now.
"How about—," he starts.
"I leave," she finishes promptly, and she's stopped looking at him and the bandages still wrapped around arms and lean muscle. It's probably much easier to leave at this point anyway.
She takes a step to the side with intentions of turning and moving as quickly out of here as she had come.
He doesn't let her.
"Wait!" A swift pull on her elbow and the sound of a hiss draws her attention back to him. It never strikes her how worried she is over him until her hand is pressed firmly between his shoulder blades, propping him up to a steady position with his arm slung over her shoulder. It's hard thinking she'd ever really move that fast or really want to move that fast for anyone at all, let alone for him.
He rights himself instantly, trying to pull away from her sure grip, but she's set on not letting him go.
"You can let go, you know?" she feels him say. He's humming it, low, but lively enough that she can't possibly think of ignoring it.
"Not if you're going to fall over. You're a liability at the moment," she says while expelling a breath she forgot she was holding.
"Does your wrist hurt?" he ekes out while plucking her wrapped hand off of his waist, and holding it between his own with a gentleness she didn't realize he possessed.
"Will you stop that?" she asks him rampantly, not that it really was a question she was allowing him to answer with anything other than okay.
He looks perplexed and a little more like himself in that moment. "Stop what?"
"Deflecting!" she nearly shouts, but she catches her tongue between her teeth before she can allow even the hint of a yell.
He chuckles, and almost every hair on her body stands on end at the sound, the feel of it flush and reverberating between the thin material of her cotton t-shirt and her skin.
"But it's what you do best, isn't it?" her hold on him slackens at the same time that she realizes that his never does.
"Let. Go. Of. Me," she annunciates perfectly.
He backs off of her, dropping her wrist and raising his hands up in a mock surrender that would have been fine for her if he hadn't given her that impish grin in return.
"I can't stand you sometimes," she seethes, but never really means.
He must know that.
"Then why are you here, Artemis?"
The silence swells for a little longer than a minute, her bottom lip tucked under her teeth. Why was she here? It seemed simple enough when she had originally slipped out of her room. She just wanted to clear her mind. She wanted him to not matter as much. And of course she just wanted to know he was okay, breathing, doing whatever it was that he was supposed to do at this moment if she hadn't been so careless.
"I just had to make sure you were okay."
"But I was supposed to be in the medical bay," he echoes familiarly.
"I'm not exactly sure why you care about the specifics." She crosses her arms, eyes narrowed in a dare.
He stops his hand short at the base of his neck, the light stretch making him grimace for a moment.
"I think I need to sit down," he admits.
She blinks once before taking the cue, and guiding him back into his room as the door shuts on its own accord. Her eyes never leave him, not even when he's taken a seat on his mattress.
"All I really wanted was a sandwich." And she's not sure whether it's his clever way of avoiding their previous exchange, but the rumbling she hears nullifies that thought.
"There's an emergency protein bar in that drawer," he says while motioning with his head, "if you got it for me, I'd even consider thanking you."
"Oh, you're so generous," she quips, but she's at the nightstand he's gestured at and handing him his bar in one quick motion.
"Thanks," he mutters in the same instance that he tears the foil away with his teeth.
She nods. The bar doesn't even last longer than a second, but he looks infinitely satisfied with just anything being in his stomach in that moment. And maybe for that she was grateful that she was standing by his door.
"Alright, Kid Bottomless Pit," she starts with an intention to walk away, "You're back in bed, and everything is back in order. I think I'm ready to call it a night."
But she really can't go anywhere, not with how his hand reaches and tugs at her ponytail in a motion to stop her.
"I highly doubt that. For all I know, you'll be wandering the halls until morning," he says with bleary eyes.
"Again, I'm not sure why you care so much."
"I don't."
"Then let me do you a favor and leave."
He shakes his head to show his disapproval over that statement, fingers slipping away from her hair. "You need sleep. At least keep me company or something."
She watches him pat the space next to him like it's the most logical thing to do. "What are you trying to prove?"
"Honestly, Artemis. Will you just trust me?"
And the scary thing is that she does, or she always did. It made her hate herself a little bit especially when it was all she thought of doing when she met him both times. But it always ended up wrong somehow. It was nerves the first time around and it happened as soon as his face met the floor beneath her feet. Then it was realization the second time when their memories flooded back to them and it hit her even harder how much he wouldn't be able to fit into her world.
She could leave at anytime. She wanted to leave in that very moment, actually, but her feet were too busy disobeying her.
"You make it hard to," she lies plain and simple while the bed shifts under her weight. You make it too easy.
There's not much left to exchange after this except a question or two about whether she had enough blankets to keep her warm. She's plenty warm though even when he's turned to his side and as far from her as possible. But he's sleeping, and it's not erratic, or painful to watch or listen to. It's quiet and settling if anything. She feels something heavy lift from her shoulders at that.
The entire time she promises herself that she'll just get up, and make her way back to her own room. It's almost laughable as soon as her eyes drift close, and she seeks him out without even meaning to. She wants to reason with herself that it was instinctual. You settle in spots that are warmer and comforting. That had to explain it. There would be no other reason why she awakens with her head tucked under his chin and her feet tangled dangerously in his and his sheets and it's overwhelming how it's just him. There's no argument about it either. Nothing is ever said about how his hand was twisted in her hair like he'd been playing with it for hours. And if they said anything about why they were hurt in the first place—murmurs she knows existed only in those few seconds she can gather before they drifted—clearly they were only dreaming.
"I'm sorry."
"About?"
"You shouldn't have pushed me out of the way. I would have been fine," she whispers between bandages and skin.
There's no mistaking the way he tightens his hold around her waist. "I wouldn't have been."