He isn't surprised when he wakes to find her gone.
He is however caught off guard when the sound of running water filters down into his perception. For a second he thinks there must be a burst pipe somewhere and is almost ready to bound up, hoping to escape the leakage, when his brain starts to produce a more rational explanation. The remnants of sleep are subsequently replaced with the logical notion it's the shower running and he frowns a little, gaze drifting to clock on the mantle.
It's late, nearly ten o'clock and while he wont deny they both needed the rest, he's amazed that a) Magnus hasn't already fled the situation and b) no one has come looking for either of them yet.
The water suddenly stops and he can't help the involuntary warmth that creeps up his neck as he tries hard not to imagine her naked body only a few metres behind the closed door. It's like asking a bull not to run at a red flag but fortunately, as was the case last night, his concern takes precedence as he considers moving to make sure she's okay.
Yesterday he waited too long, wrestled with the decision for over an hour and he doesn't dare think about what might of happened if he'd ignored the nagging urge to check her... but even using hindsight as a moral compass, this situation is different and there's nothing to suggest she's in any sort of trouble.
He's been lucky thus far, getting away with more than he ought to given her aversion to protectiveness. He should make an effort to dial down the emotion a notch, not just for her sake but because the others are starting to worry about his own state of health. Trying to run the Sanctuary, manage his own work load and still find time to watch over her is taxing and the dedication is leading to questions. One's he's not adequately prepared to answer, most especially with the truth.
He gives it another ten minutes, needing a viable excuse to barge in on her naked again in under twenty-four hours but he's not even off the bed when he hears the door creak open. She's trying to be quiet and he appreciates the fact, despite being wide awake.
Shifting slowly, so not to startle her -heaven help him if she lost hold of the towel- he coughs subtly to announce his presence and when she sees he's up, a rushed apology for the previous night quickly spills from her lips.
She might of stayed but it's clear she's embarrassed and he finds it oddly amusing that her pride inhibits her to ask for help, yet she has no obvious problem parading around him in nothing but a towel. Not that he's complaining. It's a relief to see her moving about, more progress than he's seen in days and he suspects it's largely due to acquiring a full nights sleep.
Unfortunately though, the relief unintentionally shifts his focus to the large expansion of her skin that's exposed and the smile quickly drops from his face. He hates to admit it but without the mask of concern there's a certain amount of awkwardness palpable between them... but when she moves to the bed, a bundle of clothes folded neatly in her hands, he's actually glad for the slightly uncomfortable position they're in. It means she has nothing left to lose by asking for help and he obliges, making room as she sits facing away from him on the mattress.
Without a word the towel drops to her waist and he has to remind himself to breathe as she delicately takes her bra, covering her chest and holding it in place. The smell of her shampoo is intoxicating and he prays that she doesn't notice his fingers trembling slightly as they push aside her damp curls, trying to avoid the multitude of faded bruises down her back. She winces in response but he's relieved to learn it's from cold hands, not her injuries.
Breathing out an apology, he's a little distracted as he works the clasp together but the hooks fasten with ease and he takes his time unravelling the straps, running his thumb lightly over her skin until the elastic twists back into place. She shivers beneath the touch and he reaches for her shirt, gently guiding her arms into the sleeves. He's sure she could probably manage with the buttons but takes the gamble by kneeling in front of her and is relieved when doesn't push his hands away.
In fact, the smirk she's wearing makes it feel like he's the one being granted a favour and in a way there's truth to the notion. She's letting him help, allowing him to be this close and he drinks in every second, warming under her inquisitive gaze. They both know he doesn't need to be doing this, that she's entirely capable and yet she remains perfectly still as he secures the last button in place.
Glancing up, he catches her gaze and holds it wondering how much further she'll let him take this. He might be wrong but he almost swears her eyes are telling him to take the risk and he pushes the towel back, curling his hand over her warm thigh. She emits a soft moan at the contact and his stomach tightens in response, his mind filling with flashes of her body pressed beneath his, her lips hot and bruised as he pushes her back to the bed...god, he wants so badly to engage in the fantasy but holds back for fear of hurting her.
She's in no condition to be thrown about and as much as her slight whimper encourages it, he uses all his resolve to not be swayed, biting down hard as he reaches for her underwear. Of 'course' she would only wear silk, the material fuelling a desire he's literally shaking with and he's grateful when her fingers take the burden so he can focus on getting the last of her clothing.
He feels foolish, embarrassed that he can't manage the simple task of dressing her without becoming aroused but when her hand gingerly clasps his face, it urges away the frustration. She's thanking him; for waiting, for not taking advantage of the situation and for not turning it into a big deal. However, it's her verbal apology that surprises him the most. When she admits that asking for help isn't such a bad thing and she intends to do it more often. He's immediately suspicious until he realises that by 'help' she means 'getting dressed' or as the case may be getting undressed... and he smiles into her palm, pressing his lips to the warm skin.
The moment is reluctantly broken when she shivers again and realising this time it's from the cold, he hands her the pants clutched firmly in his grasp. It doesn't take her long to navigate into them and then she's up, heading toward the bathroom to dry her hair. He follows her, leaning against the door frame as she goes about the task and folds his arms neatly, simply content to watch her.
It won't last long. Soon they'll be back to the bustle of the Sanctuary and no one will be any the wiser, completely oblivious to the shift in their relationship.
But they'll know.
And really, that's all that matters.