While they silently walked closer to her apartment, seemingly both absorbed in their own thoughts, Sophie realized several things.
Firstly, their walking pace was undergoing a barely noticeable, yet constant decline. Something she would not have recognized if the adrenaline wasn't challenging her to be overly attentive,
Secondly, his breathing was…loud. Considering their former encounters, Sophie knew that this man could be so quiet that most people didn't sense his presence until he actively drew attention to himself. Now, she could hear his exhales despite the distance they kept to each other while walking.
And thirdly, she was feeling worried.
She was about to give refuge to someone who had just attempted to assassinate Randall Hobbs, an important political figure.
Sophie had more or less come to terms with being acquainted with a murderer for now, so she pushed the images of the bodies - that were probably still lying on the freshly cleaned marble - aside and instead wondered about the possible repercussions of helping someone who had tried to kill a celebrity.
In addition, bringing him to her flat obviously meant showing him where she lived. And she was rather sure that this was not the best idea. Would she need to find a new place? Was there a place cheaper than her apartment?
What troubled her even more was that she was not only concerned about how her criminal record and domicile safety would be affected. She was also worried about the bald man.
She dared to shoot a quick glance to the figure that was a couple of steps behind her and apparently avoided getting close to the street lights. He instantly glared back at her, and she did not dare to ask him how he was holding up. He was still walking upright and fortunately not stumbling. Yet, Sophie could easily tell that he was in pain; his whole form radiated tension.
When they stopped in front of her apartment, Sophie could hear the wailing of police sirens getting closer to them and frantically searched her bag for her key.
The unpleasant sounds became louder and her hands shaky. Eventually her trembling fingers got hold of the key- and let it fall on the pavement. She heard a dramatic sigh next to her and hurried to pick up the crucial item.
She desperately tried to insert the key into the lock, but she couldn't make it out in the darkness and only produced scraping sounds. She felt an uncomfortable mixture of panic and embarrassment. I'm too stupid to open the door.
A warm and dry hand gently took the key out of her sweaty fingers and Sophie could feel his right arm brushing against hers as he unlocked the door. "Walk.", he said calmly, and for once it did not sound taunting or subtly threatening.
The shock had finally kicked in and Sophie instantly obeyed and moved up the stairs, glad that her company was apparently more composed and willing to take charge.
It took him longer than her to reach her door, and when she stood in front of it, it occurred to her that he still had her keys and that they had not turned the light on when they entered the building.
After her fingers left the light switch, she turned to the bald man who was now standing behind her and used the light to finally examine him properly.
He looked paler than usual, his jaw was clenched, and he was sweating. He looks awful, she concluded, and anxiously started chewing her lower lip. He probably won't go to a hospital. What if the bullet's still in? While her eyes focused on his left shoulder, he carefully shoved her aside and effortlessly opened her door.
"Nice place", he said dryly, and Sophie was almost glad that he had regained his mocking tone. His condition couldn't be too bad if he still had the energy to be rude.
Her flat wasn't too messy. She had cleaned it up the other day and the only things that could be criticized were a half-empty cup that had been forgotten on the kitchen counter, some used cutlery in the sink, and her crumpled blanket that rested of the sofa.
"Thanks.", she decided to act as if he had meant it as a compliment, not wanting to start a discussion about society's distribution of wealth. If she told him that cleaners, waitresses, and kitchen helps surprisingly did not fair to well on the income scale, he would probably ask her why she wasn't selling drugs instead.
"I'll get my first-aid kit and some pain killers, you can sit down on the couch. Or wherever." When he moved towards the sofa, he dropped the arm that was clutching his shoulder and she saw that the fabric of his sleeve had darkened with blood- and that he was wearing a huge pin above his heart. A pin with red and white stripes. Sophie snorted.
"Nice pin.", she said with raised eyebrows and she could have sworn that she could see the corner of his mouth twitch as if he had almost smiled.
Without waiting for a reply, she rushed into the bathroom. Aspirin probably isn't the best idea. She found something more effective and less blood-thinning which her dentist had given her after he had extracted her wisdom teeth last year. Not one of her fondest memories.
When she came back, he had already taken off his shirt and Sophie made sure to keep her face smooth as she shortly eyed his upper body, as if to look for further injuries, and then quickly glued her eyes on his shoulder.
His body looked almost normal. He wasn't ripped, he didn't have a six pack, only his arms and shoulders were muscular, although not overly. He looked like someone who would exercise his body not to look strong but to be strong.
Sophie didn't care about people's body types and seeing a guy shirtless, no matter if he was obese or a bodybuilder, usually did not affect her. What startled her wasn't his physique or the absence of hair. It was the pink scars and the red cuts that stood out in strong contrast to his pale skin. She forced herself not to stare.
Act like a professional. But who was she kidding? She was not professional. She couldn't even remember the last time she had attended a first aid course.
"Do you know how to sew?", he inquired. "Only if you want me to fix your sleeve.", she handed him the pain killers and avoided looking at him, "You can take two of them, but they'll make you a bit dizzy." Without reading the label, he popped one of them into his mouth. I could have given him anything. Sophie almost shook her head in disbelief.
The injury on his shoulder looked disgusting, but expect for that not too bad. Blood was slowly, yet consistently pouring out of a gash whose size was comparable to her middle finger. Once she realized that there was no bullet stuck in his flesh, relief spread through her body.
Sophie thought that he was a rather good patient. He scarcely flinched despite her clumsiness and refrained from criticizing her. Even when she sterilized his wound without warning him beforehand, he only tensed up.
She wasn't sure if the bleeding had been much stronger before, but she assumed that approximately forty minutes had passed since he had been shot, and decided that a regular bandage probably wouldn't do the job. The application of the compression bandage, unskilfully conducted, caused him to let out a short hiss.
When she was done, Sophie muttered a quiet apology and glanced up to his face- something she had been avoiding throughout the procedure. His eyes were closed, and his jaw muscles looked so cramped that she had to fight the urge to stroke his cheek to relax them.
Sophie felt slightly nauseous; apparently, she wasn't too keen on blood. Furthermore, she felt terrible for having caused him additional pain, although she knew that letting him lose more blood would not have been a better option. At least, this experience showed her that she was definitely not fit to ever become a nurse.
With her eyes still fixed on his face, she realized that a part of her had perceived dressing his wound as intimacy – an intimacy that she had enjoyed. She had enjoyed touching his skin and she liked the thought that he put enough trust in her to allow her to help him far too much. I need to stop being a creep.
She thought that it would be best to put some distance between them and decided to make herself useful. It wasn't long until she had brought him some iron tablets, orange juice, and a black sweater that she held is possession due to her weakness for using men's clothing as oversized night attire.
It was weird to see the bald man in something so casual as a sweatshirt, but Sophie felt utterly relieved when he zipped the shirt up.
Sophie usually kept her cool around men. But she was certain that the bald man noticed every glance she sneaked towards him, so she did not want him to catch her staring at his scars. And the more she tried to avoid doing something, the more she usually was tempted to do it.
Once again, he swallowed the pills she gave him without asking what it was and washed it down with the juice, before breaking the silence.
"My people will pick me up in a couple of hours."
Sophie's curiosity spiked rapidly, and she looked at him expectantly, hoping that he might elaborate on the matter. He didn't.
In light of her recent aid to this man, Sophie decided that she deserved some answers.
"What happened earlier tonight?", she asked, hoping that he might tell her why his boss wanted to see the all of Gotham's potential next mayor's dead.
He frowned at her. "I messed up. Big time.", he growled lowly.
It seemed wise to avoid any discussion that might reach ethical realms. She would need to settle for more specific questions.
Author's Note: Sooo, there it is. Thank you so much for your patience! I am actually already working on chapter 18, but I cannot really post anything without having edited it at least three times, so, yeah, please bear with me. This one was rather tough to write and I'm still not sure if I like it.
Anyway. I am so very grateful for and happy about the reviews you lovely people left me! :)
Sam and Sora: What I really like about Victor's depiction in 'Gotham' is that he is so very unpredictable and hard to read, and I don't really feel apt enough as a writer to fill the gaps while still keeping him close to the character. Having the narration fully reliant on my OC's point of view and this internal focalisation-thing going on is rather helpful in that case because everything gets filtered through her eyes. That was the long version of: "Sorry folks, that's all you get" :D
darkbandit01: It makes me very happy to hear the words "good", "like", and "authentic" in one sentence. Thank you so much, I really am trying to do this as authentically as possible. :)
Happy Holidays!