"Are you hurting?"

"Are you hurting?"

I ask the question, even though I know what the answer is because I also know I won't get the truth from him. Not about this. Not when every movement he makes should clearly be punctuated with a groan or a gasp or a whimper but he would die rather than have me hear it. Die, because he knows, that I know, that this is my fault. It's my fault that he's injured. That my careless stupidity nearly got him killed, again.

Jesus-fuck!

Do I never learn?

Why do I think that he will ever be able to stop himself from leaping into the path of whatever evil threatens me?

We both know it's programmed into him. Protection, I mean. It's a genetic thing for him. Visceral, like breathing. He can no more stop than I could stop loving him.

He hasn't answered me. Hasn't opened his perfect lips to deny his pain and so I smile a soft, sad smile for him. To let him know that I know that this is his way of allowing me in. He can't go the whole way yet and answer truthfully even though the bruises that war with his freckles betray him but he has come so far that he can remain mute against the urge to deny his pain. That, I recognize, is significant for him.

I move to the bed and crouch so I am at his eye-level and I have to bite hard on the inside of my lip when I see up-close the damage my actions have caused to his beautiful face.

I want to say 'I'm sorry' and "forgive me'. To repeat all the useless words I've spilled each time we have danced this dance before but they won't come, cause my heart is beating so hard that I can't get enough air into me.

I could have lost him. This stupid, fearless, selflessly wonderful man who is my everything. My world could have ended and how do I put the terror of that into mere words?

He saves me the need to.

His hand is cold against my cheek and I can feel the fine tremble of exhaustion as the rough skin of his palm caresses me. I raise my hand to cover his, turning it gently so I can kiss his fingers and he smiles.

His face is bruised and battered and he can scarce keep his eyes open he is so tired. He doesn't deserve this and I want to make it all better for him. To take away his pain and make his whole life different but I know I can't. I can try and comfort him now though, if only for this brief moment.

I rise quickly and he tilts his head back, slight alarm at my sudden movement widening his eyes as he follows my face. The motion jars him and this time he is fractionally too slow to bite back a hiss of pain. His hand drops from mine to steady himself as he sways a little on the bed.

I reach instinctively for his shoulder, forgetting that he took the brunt of the beating there and he gasps and lurches from my touch, cradling his ruined arm to his body.

"Fuck! I'm sorry..."

I say as I move my hands quickly, seeking places I can hold him firmly enough to steady him without hurting him more but it takes a good few moments for both of our breathing to return to normal.

It's the last straw for him. He's barely able to stay upright now and his eyes are fluttering closed so I risk it again and this time more carefully shimmy onto the bed behind him. I thread one leg to either side of him and slowly, delicately wrap my arms around him.

"Lean back onto me."

I tighten my grip a little and after a second of resistance he gets it and relaxes against me. It takes a couple of minutes to get us so my back is to the headboard and he is sprawled between my splayed legs but I manage it and it's worth it when he sighs softly and sinks bonelessly against my chest.

I snag the old comforter and drag it over us as his head lolls heavily into my shoulder.

"Does it still hurt?"

I whisper, my breath warm against his temple and his warm, green eyes flutter, seeking mine.

"Not now...Not here with you...Never, when I'm with you..."

He murmurs and I smile through my grateful tears as he drifts off to sleep.

Ends