"Madam, I'm back," I called as I returned to her manor, arms full of boxes and bags. "And I've done all of your shopping while you were here lazing about. Are you-" I paused in the doorway of her bedroom. My "mistress" sat in the floor, still in her bedclothes. For some reason, however, she was spattered and stained with red, a particular shade which I easily recognized. "What's this? You had fun without me? That's no fair. She shook her head silently, refusing to even look at me.
"It's mine," she admitted softly. "All of it. I...what's the point of this, Grell?" Frowning deeply, I set our bags down; it was clear that she needed...something.
"Don't give me that," I said as I knelt beside her to see how she'd hurt herself. It was difficult to see under all the blood, but I found several cuts across her arms, some deep and dangerous, some shallow and sloppy. They couldn't have been too fresh, as they were only sluggishly bleeding now...but that wasn't exactly good news. I hated it when she was like this... "I thought we'd gotten past all that. Come on, up you get." Pulling her to her feet, I dragged her into the bathroom and started a bath for her.
"It's easy for you. You never hurt or want for anything," she continued, only irritating me further. "You do as you please, get what you want, and destroy anything that gets in your way..."
"Don't presume to know my life, Madam," I warned as I helped her undress. "Not all problems can be solved by a blade, especially when you turn it on yourself. You know this isn't helping. This isn't what you want. What were you thinking?" The moment she stepped into the water, it immediately began to turn pink.
"I just...fell empty," she muttered. "Nothing helps. I've been trying so hard to let myself be happy, but..."
"But it would be easier if you were dead?" I asked evenly, washing redness from her cheek. I could only imagine the tantrum she must have thrown in order to get it all over like that, and the thought that I would be cleaning it out of her carpets and clothes the following day was no comfort at all. she nodded silently. "Maybe it would be easier, but you certainly wouldn't be any happier. You always say that everything has been taken from you, but you have your life. You have your future. If you're willing to throw that away yourself, you don't deserve it."
"What more can I do?" she breathed, sounding panicky and distressed but staying quite still. "I'm dying. Every day that this goes on, more and more of me slips away. I'm afraid... What happens when there's nothing left?"
"Stop," I said flatly, completely unsympathetic to her current "condition." "You're looking for permission to give up, but you aren't about to get it from me. If you're going to keep wasting my time with these hysterics, I can leave now and let you wallow in your self-pity." Even as I said this, I was continuing to wash her hair; this was certainly not the first time we had been through this, and yet she always seemed to let herself slip back into depression. She was silent for a few moments, then finally took a deep breath.
"Don't go. I still need your help."
"And what do you need my help for, dear?" I paused long enough to look her in the face and await her answer.
"So that I punish the people who throw away the most precious thing in the world." This time, her voice was firm, and the fire had come back to her eyes. I smiled.
"Then I'll stay." After a kiss to her forehead, I helped her rinse off and step out of the bath. She seemed a bit more aware of herself now, but she didn't speak. I put her in a clean nightgown, white and pure and everything we weren't, then led her to bed.
"Thank you," she said at length while I settled in next to her. "I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come to me. I-"
"Shh," I cooed, petting her hair softly. "Go to sleep, Angelina." She seemed comfortable enough, letting her head rest against my chest. Poor thing. As if I didn't know that she needed me. She couldn't help her inherent weakness, but she was much more passionate than any other human I'd met. Troublesome though she was, I did love her passion.
(A/N: So. A Grell and Madam piece. It's been a while since I've written Grell; forgive me if I'm a bit rusty. I can't help but love the dynamic between these two. I have so many thoughts on their relationship. I like to think that they love each other, though not quite in a romantic way. More in a way of...needing (or wanting) fellowship, having something in common, each using the other in his or her own way. I also like to think that they do not get along all the time, and I mean much more violently than this. I'm not sure how I feel on the subject of sex. I imagine it happens, though not in a cutesy, lovey-dovey way. It's a sort of relationship that's difficult for most people to grasp, but it works well for them...until he finally gets fed up with her weakness and ends it.
Is there a pairing name for this? I feel like there must be. If anyone knows it, please tell me. I don't know whether you can expect more of this or not. As I said, I do love their interaction, but...well, I'm trying to move away from fanfiction altogether. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this.)