A/N: Ok, so I adore this show (and the books) and even though Wicken only appeared in 4 episodes so far, I am head over heels for them. I'm also kinda high for them at the moment and hadn't posted anything in months, so even though I should be working on my two continuing stories, I couldn't resist making this pointless oneshot. ;D Please review.
The light was blinding at first. I'd been in the dark so long, I'd been swallowed by it really, that even my dimly-lit surroundings burned my eyes. With a whine, I screwed them shut and buried them into whatever I was using as a pillow. Slowly, my other senses began to return. My toes twitched awake and my fingers curled into fists, like a baby gripping an imaginary finger on its first day on Earth. I felt the pain on my good leg where they'd drilled into my skin, but I was numb to the agony. I knew I should probably be screaming, clenching my jaw and gripping where it hurt, but I just let it ache. I couldn't find the energy to say anything or even move. And even if I could, I doubted I would.
But it went beyond my legs. My whole body felt like a bruised peach, battered and violated. I could smell blood, but I wasn't sure if it was fresh, dry or just in my imagination. I wasn't sure if it was mine, my enemies' or my friends'. I didn't even know where I was. I remembered the dam, the explosion, the guards shining bright lights in my eyes and dragging me off to my death. What came after that? I was untied, retied, drilled into. Eventually it stopped hurting, because everything had gone black.
Apparently I hadn't died, unless this was what Hell looked like. One eye inched open. Things were still bright, but they were beginning to take form. I couldn't see any infernos, but the notion I was alive confused me more than the possibility of my death. Where was I? How had I got here? My mind was hurting with questions more than any other part of me. More detail was added to the things around me, and my eyes opened fully to the sight of the control room.
I was lying on the edge of the bed, mere millimetres away from toppling onto the floor. "Raven?" a voice came out of nowhere. "Raven?" It was soft and concerned, tones I had not heard lately, especially directed from Kyle Wick. A hand touched my shoulder ever so slightly and I felt my muscles tighten reflexively. "Raven?" He kept saying my name, as if I couldn't hear him, but I had no way to let him know my senses were on point. I wasn't strong enough to move yet and I really didn't feel like trying. "Hey. Raven. Are you staying up this time? Raven?" He was speaking in a whisper, as if discussing a secret only we were privy to. But I heard no one else close by and somehow knew instantaneously that we were alone. Besides, if anyone else was here, he'd likely be cracking jokes and observing me from afar, not lingering close and murmuring what was likely his version of sweet nothings in my ear. "Raven. Hey."
I heard the soft ruffling of the quilt behind me and felt the weight on the bed shift. Then he was there, before me on his knees with his eyes boring into mine. There were small cuts and bruises over his face that I knew were most likely from our explosion. I suddenly wondered what I looked like. Definitely worse than he did, there was no doubt about that, but I didn't really want to find out, if I was honest. I would rather be content with the assumption that I looked horrendous than have it confirmed. His hand reached out and, barely touching me, he ran it along my hairline. I grimaced, though I had no idea why. It seemed like the appropriate reaction, given the circumstances.
"Hey," he drew out in a whisper, the hint of a smile playing across his lips, only without his usual arrogance. It didn't seem right, somehow. He seemed almost genuine. His eyes moved up and down, as if that was enough to check if I was okay.
"How… how long…?" I managed to meekly wonder, hoping it would be enough.
"Only a couple hours. You've woken up a couple times. Don't think you took much in."
I once again nuzzled my nose against my pillow in way of a response. "I don't… I don't remember any…" How hard was it to say a few words? Why was my mouth literally forbidding me from saying anything? It had become physically impossible to say the words I was thinking in my head—but, come to think of it, I had no idea what I would say if I had the chance.
He was nodding, something he seemed to be doing absentmindedly. "So Reyes, how're ya feeling?"
"Can't remember," I whispered. I heard his soundless laugh, but I was too exhausted to do anything but listen. I didn't know why, but it seemed to calm me in ways I wasn't used to.
"Are you okay?" he asked again, slowly slipping his hand into mine and pulling them both close to his chest. As much as I didn't want to, I saw it. My hand, grazed and beaten. There was no blood—apparently, I'd been cleaned up in my sleep—but I realised there had been at some point and didn't want to imagine how much.
With a wince, I nodded unconvincingly. He looked at me with the expression I hated, the one that told me I was somebody to be pitied, the one that told me he felt sorry for me. Usually I didn't have to worry about Wick stepping on eggshells around me. He generally didn't care. That was one of the advantages of his joke-heavy lifestyle, and there weren't all that many; he would just brush off any insecurities I was having with a smile and a sample of his dry humour, not even acknowledging that I'd shown a weakness. But there were also times, times he didn't say anything, when I saw it behind his eyes, something I assumed was always there: his sympathy. And I didn't need it.
"Raven," he repeated, moving his thumb over my tiny shiners. He started to move closer to me and I fought the urge to jump out of the way. His lips found my forehead and ever so carefully kissed it. I became unexpectedly uncomfortable as my heart quickened and leaped up into my throat. I kept my eyes half-closed, determined to avoid eye contact, but he face was inches away from mine. I could feel his hot breath in the air between us, air I so desperately wished wasn't there. I could see he was hesitating. He didn't know if he should wait for me to show more signs of recovery or throw caution out the window. He was so close. All it would take was for me to lean a little closer. My eyes were already half-shut. Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't falter in times like this. I would just kiss him, not even caring about what he might think of me. But after the way I'd spoken to Wick, the way I'd pushed him into the cold when all he was trying to do was care about me, I wasn't sure if I wanted to risk it.
I didn't have to. He touched his lips softly to mine, only for half a second and light as a feather, but that was all I needed to kiss him harder. There wasn't anything animal about it—I was still sensitive all over—but I found some sense of comfort in having someone kiss me the way he was. It was no different from any other kiss I had experienced, not in principle. Two sets of lips meshed together, finding a renewed sense of hope and companionship in each other. I'd had that every time I kissed Finn, every kiss feeling like the first one. I'd had that when I kissed Bellamy, not because he was Bellamy, but because I knew he wanted me, if only for one night. I'd had it when I kissed Wick before, and I had it now. It was always the same feeling, at least on my side, and it was a nice feeling, but there was something more to it than that. It wasn't something in the kiss itself, but rather something buried beneath the kiss, between the lines. Something that creeped under my skin and spread through my veins. A feeling that, no matter what happened, he would be there. I had no idea how I could translate a simple kiss that way, especially since I never had before. Maybe it was just my imagination, my false hope playing tricks, but the more I thought about it, the more I wanted it to be true. Not so that I would have someone to love me in a way that Finn never had. Not so that I would have someone who put me first, the way that everyone else seemed to. But because this was Wick, someone I would never have imagined myself kissing like this. Someone I hadn't even considered until this point.
It might not be real, or anything close to resembling the truth, but that belief encouraged me to melt further into his arms. One hand touched my shoulder, gently, giving me the impression that that might be where the damage was worst—if, of course, you excluded my legs, one of which was more or less non-existent and the other which likely had a drill hole in it. His tongue played with mine. His other hand cupped my face, allowing a thumb to move in soft circles over my skin.
For reasons I couldn't quite understand, I touched my forehead to his, breaking the connection. He stayed where he was, one hand on my face and the other on my shoulder, his eyes closed. He opened them. We were so close together, he looked like a cyclops. He took a breath and reclaimed his hands. I silently cursed myself. You've rejected him twice now. He specifically said he wasn't playing games. What the hell's wrong with you?
He looked at me with an expression that I felt like I should recognise. It seemed so familiar, even if he hadn't been the one to wear it, but I couldn't muster up the memory. He wasn't saying anything, and that made me nervous. "You haven't made a joke yet," I croaked, attempting to clear my throat with no effect. "Aren't you going to tell me how awful I look?" I tried a half-smile, doing my best to get the old Wick back, because I'd been awake several minutes now and he hadn't made a wise crack. Something had to be wrong.
He didn't laugh. He didn't smile. He didn't crack wise. He just shook his head and said, "No." I just looked at him, tempted to ask for proof of identity. Before I could, he added, "My jokes are always two things: ingenious, and they come from a place of truth." I continued to say nothing. "I'd be lying if I said you look awful."
I wasn't really sure what to do with that. I never associated Wick with those guys, the ones with the lines which could either be construed as corny or romantic. I decided to call this one the latter, if for no other reason than the fact that no one had ever said anything like that to me before. "I'm going to sleep now," I said, really just fishing for an excuse to escape his eyes, which were trained intensely on me and nothing else. He smiled faintly, so faint that it was barely there. "Will you stay?" I whispered, quiet enough that I wasn't sure he'd heard me. I wasn't sure I wanted him to hear me.
He stood up and I was certain this meant he was leaving me alone. I felt cold suddenly. But that was soon remedied by his body, pressed close against me, and his breath on the back of my neck. His arm circled my waist and, even though there was literally no space between me and where the mattress ended, I felt safe. Possibly for the first time in my entire life.