A little something for OQ fix it week. Roni day.
Renegades
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"Goddammit!"
She curses when she feels the stinging pain of a cut in her skin, her hands coloring of red the water in the sink. Another glass broken – if it goes on like this, she's going to have to restock her furniture of glasses soon, she thinks. Her other hand goes up to her forehead, a deep sigh leaving her throat. To hell her clothes, she tells herself, as she lets her body slide down and she sits on the floor.
God, I'm just so tired.
"You are bleeding," a calm voice says from her left. Roni jumps a little, startled, her eyes snapping up to meet his at the end of the counter.
"Mr Wood," she deflates, relaxing immediately when she recognizes him. Him again. He's here a lot, lately, usually in the mornings and in the late evenings. She wishes she could pretend not to know anything about him, but… she does. He works at the hospital, at the ER – and volunteers as a veterinarian in his spare time. Their banters at the counter have become legendary, between her regulars. But he's infuriatingly kind, Mr Wood, always smiling, even when she'd give a lung to go in the back of this place and have a good cry, even when she'd love to slap an annoying customer.
Sometimes, she catches him looking at her as if he knows her already. And that is weird, because she doesn't even know his first name. Not because he wouldn't tell her: because she doesn't want to ask. Roni sighs, rubbing her temple with her fingers.
"We… are closed, actually."
"Already… or still?" he jokes. She has to have a puzzled expression, because he lifts his phone to let her see the time. "It's five in the morning, milady," he unnecessarily informs.
"Oh," she nods. "I see."
"Are you alright?"
Her shoulders lump down, and just now she notices the pain her hand's in. "Of course I am," she raises her eyebrows at him. "And I still don't see why you're here. You know, I was…" her eyes dart around – from the almost dried glasses up on the counter, to the still not washed floor, to the empty bottles in a corner. "…just cleaning up, and we open in two hours."
Now that she's said it, she sees the madness in her sentence. It's just her with other two baristas, here, but she always takes the most of the hours, because well – it's her place, and she should. Not to mention she doesn't like not to be here when that stupid Victoria Belfry comes in. Or that pair of cops.
However, Mr Wood is still there, staring at her with something that looks like pity. "Do you have a first aid kit?" he asks, gentle.
She doesn't like pity. She doesn't like that it feels like he's talking to a child. Or maybe it's just me overreacting as always, she thinks.
"Yeah, in my office," she tells him. She motions up to get there, but he precedes her.
"You can stay there, it's best if you don't get up," he instructs. "You look like you could faint any moment now. When was the last time you've slept?"
Roni tries to think about it. Yesterday? It sure wasn't today. The day before that? "I don't know," she narrows her eyes at him. He just smiles at her, and goes, as Roni's head falls backwards against the wall. Her feet really hurt now, and it doesn't help that today she was wearing heels. Boots with low heels, but still.
He comes back after a few minutes. Much to her surprise, he washes his hands at the sink, and slumps down next to her, probably dirtying his trousers in the process. "Here we go," he says, taking her hand between his. "Does it hurt?"
"Less than my embarrassment about being found by you of all people," she mutters. "Why are you here?"
"I was coming home, I had a night shift," he explains. Oh yes, the hospital. "And I saw you still in here, as always. So I thought I could convince you to go home a little earlier than eight in the morning, Miss Ramírez."
"I see," she sighs. He turns her hand in his – his own is warm, pleasant in a way, firm but still delicate, as she imagines it's normal in his job. Her cut really looks ugly, surrounded with soap and water, and he goes to clean her first of all. She doesn't look as the cloth is being dampened with blood, and it's stupid, for god's sake, it's just blood. But her head is spinning a little, the tiredness and exhaustion finally catching up with her.
He stops, suddenly, looks at her. "You alright?"
"Yes, don't stop," she murmurs. "Keep going."
"You know, that's a sentence that could be misunderstood," he smirks. Roni narrows her eyes, glances at his smug grin and hits his arm. He lets out an outraged "Ow!", and watches her with a scowl.
"Jerk," she murmurs.
"Couldn't resist," he tells her. "Sorry," he adds, a bit sheepishly.
Roni does an ankward mmm, but nods at him to go on. He pours some alcohol on some cotton, and presses it gently on her hand. "It will sting a little," he says, too late now, because thank you so much, she noticed.
"You don't need to stitch it up, right?" she asks, a bit tense.
"I can just put some bandages," he answers, thankfully, as if he knows exactly what she didn't say aloud, and doesn't want to taunt her for it.
Roni shifts, uncomfortable, when he starts to roll a white piece of fabric around her hand. She fixates her gaze to a stain of something green on the floor – it could be mint syrup, probably – and takes a breath while he works.
"There you go," he announces, a shade of pride in his voice. "Now please keep the hand at rest for at least a day."
She immediately looks at him at that. His eyes are kind and his face is completely serious, as if he's not joking. "You're kidding me," she protests. "I can't take a break from… this," she waves her healthy hand. "I can't," she repeats.
"You have to," he says, with finality in his voice. "Not only for your hand, but… staying awake for days is going to roast your brain. Doctor's orders," he tells her, before she can protest further. "You can't kill yourself over a bar, Roni," he says. She hears… concern, in his voice. He is… worried about her?
She lowers her head, blinking furiously to chase away the stinging of tears in her eyes. "Why do you care about me?" she whispers. The green stain has become very, very interesting.
He doesn't answer, but his arm circles her shoulder. And – it must be her tired state, nothing else – she surrenders to the feeling of his warmth, places her head on his chest. Anything, to hide the red puffy thing her face must have become.
"Because you care for everyone," he answers, his voice low. "Because you take under your wing all the underdogs, all the unfortunate, and still have room to smile. Because you want to make people believe you're tough, but I've seen your soul, and it's incredibly kind. Because I don't feel like there is someone to care about you," he ends, simply, and now she really is crying.
Fat tears splash on his shirt, her face hiding against the fabric, and she prays her shoulder aren't shaking. He curls a hand around her shoulder and lets her be, in silence.
She just feels… drained. Even her tears come out difficultly, as if her brain can't process all the steps it would need to properly cry. She sighs, a muffled sound, against him. "I've never asked your name," she confesses. "You've been a regular from quite some time, and I only know your surname."
"I'm Robin," he answers, his thumb stroking slowly her upper arm. "Pleased to meet you."
"T's a very nice – n-name," she yawns. Her eyes are closed before she knows it. Robin. An echo, in the fine line between sleep and slumber, from her past, from something forgotten. Robin.
She falls asleep in minutes, so she doesn't know when the dream starts and reality ends, but she feels lips pressing on her hair and, just like that, just an imperceptible murmur.
Sleep well, Regina.
Sleep well, my love.
But she must have imagined it.
Right?
