A/N: two chapters in one day, I'm on fire! Anyways, happy Easter, spring break, April Fool's Day, whatever else, and enjoy!
The door of his temporary office whispered open, and he knew without even looking up that it was Emily. They never used anything like cologne or perfume or scented soaps because it offended their sensitive noses, but the natural musky scent of her skin and hair couldn't be eliminated so easily. "Matt," she said quietly, coming near to stand beside the desk; they always spoke quietly when alone, their hearing sensitive enough to hear each other. "Why have you not told him?"
He let out a heavy breath, set down his pen, and turned around to look up at her. He knew exactly what she was talking about and should've known that it was coming. No matter the situation, he could count on her, his second-in-command, to keep him grounded; if she thought he was in the wrong, she wouldn't hesitate to tell him so. And judging by her expression, she definitely thought that he was in the wrong. "I have my reasons," he answered at last.
Emily narrowed her eyes at him, obviously dissatisfied with the dismal answer that he'd given, and he knew that this conversation was far from over. She pulled out a chair next to the desk and sat down beside him. "And what would those reasons be, pray tell?" she asked in a cool voice.
Knowing that she would not give him rest until he had come clean, Matt met her eye directly. "I'm not sure that he can take it, Emily," he answered truthfully. "Everything that's happened…it is a lot for anybody to take in, especially for someone not born into it as we were. Connor is take it all very well, all things considered, but…if I put too much on him at once, I feel he'll lose it." He shook his head slowly, trying to make her understand this. Connor was handling it better than most, amazingly better, but even someone with a learning curve steep as his had a limit, had a breaking point. "And this…this will be harder for him than anything else. I will tell him, but…give it some time, let him have the chance to settle first."
She stared at him thoroughly for several long seconds, dark eyes searching. She saw his point, though, not wanting to overwhelm the boy with everything all at once, yet she had a feeling that he was still trying to keep something from her. Emily could see no deception in his aura, but that meant very little – Hunters were trained to mask their auras from each other. Still, the feeling persisted. "Very well," she agreed at last, deciding to set aside that feeling for the time being. "But Matt…if you do not tell him, then I will." Pushing back from the desk, she stood up and walked out of the office, leaving Matt sitting by himself.
Connor wasn't sure how he'd even made it home, but by the time he did, he was ready to fall over in exhaustion. No cab would stop for him because he probably looked like an axe murderer, covered in blood and dirt, and he wouldn't risk taking the Tube for the same reason. So he'd legged it, trying to avoid being seen by anybody, occasionally having to stop and breathe when the nausea threatened to make his dinner reappear. But he'd made it. He fumbled open the lock, trying to keep quiet – he still had his keys and wallet, so he figured that he wasn't mugged – and tripped his way up the stairs like a drunk, praying that Abby wouldn't wake up. Rex fluttered down to greet him, chirping. "Shush, mate, shush, or you'll wake up your mum," he whispered hoarsely, shooing Rex away; the Coelurosauravus fluttered away, looking put out. If lizards could look put out.
The light suddenly flicked on, and he leapt halfway out of his skin, blinking rapidly at the sudden onslaught of illumination. Abby stood there with one hand on the switch, staring at him with confusion on her face. "Connor? What are you doing awake? It's the middle of the night…." Her gaze wandered over him properly for the first time, and the confusion transformed to worried concern. "Conn, what happened? Who did this?" she gasped, walking closer to him.
He was still trembling, and she could see and feel it when she took hold of both his hands in hers, taking in the swollen, scraped knuckles, the dirt on his palms and the dried blood on his fingers. "I-I dunno," he answered hoarsely. "I went to bed in me bed, and when I woke up, I was in the park, and I've no clue how I got there." He took a trembling breath, fear coiling tight in his belly; she looked at his pale, scared face, blue gaze soft and concerned. "I-I think m'goin mad, Abby," he whispered in a small voice. "I keep wakin' up in other places like this – " He gestured to his torn, dirtied clothes, hands scraped all to hell, blood still wet in his hair. " – an' I got no idea what happened to me." He looked at her with tearful eyes. "Have I gone 'round the bend?"
Abby cupped his cheeks and drew his head down to kiss his cool forehead, feeling him lean into her, and she hugged his head against her shoulder. "Yeah. You're completely crackers. Totally off your rocker," she confirmed, then pressed another gentle kiss atop his head, ignoring the faint taste of blood. "But I'll tell you what – all the best people are," she added, and felt him laugh softly. "C'mon, I'll run you a bath. If you keep your shorts on, I'll wash your hair for you. Sound good to you?"
He nodded weakly, eyes still closed.
She patted his back gently. "Good. Go grab some clothes, I'll run the bath." As he headed up the stairs into the loft, she walked into the bathroom. Perching herself on the edge of the tub, she ran the water, occasionally checking the temperature with one hand; she also poured some of her bath salts into the water, knowing that his battered body probably needed it. When it was near full, she turned off the tap. "Ready, Connor," she called.
He stood behind her, standing almost entirely still with arms crossed across his chest, hands tucked beneath his arms. He shuffled a little, then nodded, beginning to take off the torn, dirtied clothes he'd come home in, even though he didn't remember getting dressed at all. First to come off was his red hoodie, which had bloodstains and tears in the sleeves and on the front, then his waistcoat, also torn with spots of blood on it. Then he started to pull off his t-shirt and whimpered. "Might need a hand," he whispered in a tiny voice. She turned to look; his shirt was halfway up but he was unable to get it the rest of the way off. The forming bluish-black bruises across his back and shoulders were enough explanation. Stepping forward, she slid her fingers into the collar, pulled it over his head, and slid it back down his arms, peeling it away. "Ta," he mumbled quietly, not quite able to meet her eye; this was not exactly how he imagined his first time undressing in front of a woman. She nodded, turning away as he took off his boots, socks, and gloves, then his trousers. Still in his boxers, he stepped into the tub and slowly lowered himself down into the hot water, gripping the sides for balance, until he was seated, the water lapping around him.
Abby used one foot to push his clothes out of the bathroom, making a mental note to throw them out later; she perched on the edge of the tub, detached the showerhead, and turned on the water, carefully letting the water soak his tangled hair. Taking the bottle of conditioner, she squirted a generous amount onto her hand and began to massage it into his rats' nest of hair, working up a lather. She left the conditioner to work on his tangles, picked up a clean washcloth, dipped it into the water, and then lifted it to his back. He went rigid when she first touched his skin, but then the tension melted out of him, relaxing. She ran the cloth along the back of his neck, careful not to accidentally apply pressure to the bruises. A swath of pale skin was revealed beneath the layer of grime. She leaned forward, putting her lips near his ear. "Uh-oh. I've made a clean spot here. Guess I'll have to do it all now," she said quietly; the corner of his mouth curled up in a smile.
She sat back and began to clean off his back, very gently dragging the cloth down his back, wiping off the dirt and grime. She bit her lip, seeing shiny traces of scar tissue, bruises, and scratches in varying stages of healing appear beneath the layer of dirt. Something in her heart ached with pathos, seeing the scars on his back, his shoulders, some of them well faded and years old. He hissed softly as she accidentally pressed too hard on one bruise, and she kissed the back of his shoulder. "Sorry," she murmured. He made a soft sound, closed his eyes, and dropped his head forward, arms hooked loosely around his knees. The trust in the motion made her heart twist. The water turned cloudy with dirt as she rinsed off the cloth, cupped water in her hands, and poured it over his back, sloughing off the rest of the dirt. She wondered what in the world he'd done, if he'd gotten in a fight when he was sleepwalking or something.
Moving around the edge of the tub, she took his wrist and swept the washcloth over his bicep, the layer of grime on his skin giving way to her determination. She tilted her head slightly to look at him. Connor had his eyes closed, head hanging low between his shoulders; he looked like he'd fallen asleep sitting up. A slow trickle of soap suds ran down his forehead, and she used her thumb to gently wipe it away. He grunted softly, leaning into her touch. Abby moved from his left arm to his right. When she was done, she moved around to sit behind him. "Head back," she murmured.
Eyes still closed, he tipped his head backwards, face tilted up. The shadows beneath his eyes looked darker than before, but his expression was one of relaxation, near-bliss. Taking the showerhead again, she turned on the water and began to rinse the conditioner from his hair. Holding the showerhead in one hand, she directed the flow and cupped her other hand over his forehead, keeping the conditioner from running into his eyes. The sudsy water ran down his back grimy red at first, then in clear pink, then at last clean. She used her free hand to comb through his wet hair, pulling out bits of twigs and leaves and…Christ, was this broken glass? She pulled out small shards of broken glass, tossing them into the wastebin. Maybe that was the reason for all the blood in his hair. She just hoped that he didn't have a concussion or anything; when she'd finished cleaning out the debris, she ran the water over his hair once more; his hair flattened, seal-like, against his skull. Turning off the tap, she slid her fingers into his hair and began to run them through the tangles, taking care not to pull or tug, pulling out the knots, easing through the snarls slowly. He sighed almost inaudibly, leaning back into her touch, eyes closed.
"All done," she said, her voice low and husky. She almost hated to speak and end it, but the water was getting cold, and she wanted to get him to sleep soon. Connor yawned widely and nodded slowly. She stood up and went in the cupboard for her fluffiest towel. He pulled the plug and started to get up, gripping the sides of the tub, but he faltered, an abrupt wave of exhaustion hitting him hard, swamping him with fatigue. Abby took his arm, supporting his weight as he climbed out of the bath. Most men would have shaken her off as if being helped by a woman was too emasculating, but Connor accepted her help gratefully as she wrapped the towel around his shoulders and rubbed the moisture off his shoulders and hair. "That better?" she asked, using the edge of the towel to gently wipe water droplets off his face; he scrunched up his face in reaction to the touch of cloth like a little kid would.
"Mmm…mm-hm," he answered softly; he didn't even sound conscious.
She gently scrubbed the towel across his hair, making it stand up in all directions. "C'mon, let's get you to bed. You need sleep," she said, but he went tense in her arms, leaning away.
"N-no," he murmured, shaking his head vigorously. "No. I can't go to sleep, I can't."
"Why not?" Abby asked.
He bit his lip, hesitant to answer her because he hated how childish it sounded. "I'm scared," he admitted. "I'm afraid that if I go to sleep, I'm going to wake up somewhere else again, and I won't know what I did or how to get home."
Her heart tore at how desolate he sounded. Despite the fact that he had unshaven scruff on his jaw and stood almost a head taller than her, he sounded so much like a lost little boy that she wanted to hold him tight and never let go. She reached up and pressed her hand to his cheek. "Then you come in my bed with me. And when you wake up, I'll be there instead," she replied.
When Connor spoke again, his voice was thick. "Promise?"
She slid her hand to the back of his neck and drew his head down, rising on her toes. Their foreheads rested against one another, noses touching. "Promise."