𝖎𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖗

‘  here.  ’  the  bag  is  tossed,  rather  gracelessly,  down  the  length  of  the  table  towards  wes  —  it’s  not  the  one  he  usually hauls  around,  but  it  is  stuffed  to  the  brim  with  medical  supplies.  some  look legitimate.  most  don’t.  ‘  i  grabbed what  i  could.  didn’t  know  what  exactly  you  needed.  figured  it  might  help.  ’  his  expression  is  carefully  trained  into  something  neutral,  like  he  doesn’t  have  any  interest  in  being  caught  in  the  act  of  helping  someone  without  prompting  or  the  promise  of  a  reward.  he’d  spent  the  entire  last  week  haggling  at  the  wharf,  trying  to  squeeze  something  out  of  them,  and  they’d  offered  rolls  of  bandages,  painkillers,  and  odd  looking  devices  that  ‘viv  doesn’t  think  he  could  identify  if  he  were  being  paid.  but  it  had  been  enough  to  satisfy  the  strange  desire  to  please  he  gets  from  time  to  time.     /     @iichvr.

the  day  had  gone  by  slow , and  now  the  sun  was  setting . he  sat  propped  up  against  a  wall ,  head  tilted  up  and  eyes  closed . tired ; he  was  exhausted  after  the  long  day , having  run  on  only  a  few  hours  of  sleep  within  the  last  twenty  hours  or  so .

he  was  thinking  about  him  again .

he  opened  one  eye  when  he  felt  someone  sit  next  to  him , and  smiled  warmly  once  he  saw  who  it  was . he  opened  both  eyes  and  turned  his  head  towards  her  while  still  resting  it  against  the  wall . he  drew  up  his  knees  and  rested  his  elbows  on  them , letting  his  hands  dangle .

kaede was no medic, but she prided herself for being able to patch her own injuries. she was always independent & confident, which is why being offered help by a complete stranger caught her off guard. her foot crashed down against his, stomping on all of his toes with as much force as she could possibly put into that blow.

reflexes —— she didn’t quite have time to think about it.

‘ it’s just a scratch. no need to look like i’m about to die. ’ brown hues studied the face of the man  ;  a face she had seen before, but she couldn’t match a name or a camp to it.

wes  took  a  deep  breath , trying  to  take  his  mind  off  the  throbbing  pain  in  his  foot . sometimes  he  wished  he  wore  combat  boots , or  something  sturdier  than  converse , at  least — shoes  that’d  better  protect  him  from  foot  stomps  from  stubborn  woman  with  intimidating  expressions .

❝ sorry  ma’am , ❞ he  repeated , giving  her  an  apologetic  smile . ❝ i’m  very  sure  you  can  take  care  of  that  yourself ; i  just  see  any  injury , even  the  tiniest  scratch , and  my  instincts  to  help  kick in , ya  know ? ❞

❝ whoa , whoa , nell . ❞ he  threw  up  his  hands  and  gave  her  a  non-threatening  but  stern  look .

❝ holy  hell , you’ve  got  quite  the . . . stomp ? ❞

to  say  this  had  never  happened  before  would  have  been  a  lie . back  before . . . everything , when  he  was  a  first  responder , he’d  dealt  with  punches  and  kicks  and stomps  to  the  foot . it  hurt  like  hell , but  at  least  it  told  him  the  patient  still  had  good  reflexes , a  good  sign .

sometimes , though , like  now , it  wasn’t  just  a  reflex — the  woman  obviously  didn’t  want  his  help .

𝓷𝓸𝔀  𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸𝓭𝓾𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓰 , ryan  guzman  𝔀𝓮𝓼𝓵𝓮𝔂  𝓻𝓮𝔂𝓮𝓼 ! what’s  up , i’m  fitz , 17 , cst , and  i  suck  at  intros , so  i’m  gonna  try  ‘n’  keep  this  short  ‘n’  sweet ! if  you  wanna  plot , feel  free  to  slide  into  my  dms , like  this , and/or  hmu  on  my  discord  @  WHERE’S MY SEROTONIN#3074 !!

tw: mentions of death