SENDER bandages RECEIVER'S hands carefully.
Hannibal pressed himself up against the cool white wall, that sterile white Umbrella liked to plaster everywhere down below. He still wore his Umbrella uniform, though the stitching of the logo had begun to fray at the edges, the red and white threads curling away from each other like something slowly coming apart at the seams.
โHere, let me.โ He says, observing Leon at first the way he fumbled with the bandage roll, knuckles split and swollen, the skin around two of them already bruising to a deep, angry purple. This time, no undead had done it. Leon had unraveled and put his fist through the wall. More than once. He lifted himself up and retrieved a few medical supplies on a cart nearby. He then crouched to Leonโs level, uncapping the disinfectant and expanding Leonโs fingers while gingerly touching the finger pads first for him to comply. Hannibalโs touches were always tender to those he wished no harm against.
โUmbrella has done damage to us all,โ the now former employee said, not looking up from the wound. โItโll take time, but healing is already underway.โ Whether he was talking about their relationship (him, an employee gone AWOL) or the wound itself remained ambiguous.
Caretaking action prompts.
Leon is still thrumming with anger. It's little wonder he can barely unwrap the bandage roll from itself, he's about ready to throw it when a quiet voice breaks though the hammering of his own heartbeat. It's still thundering in his ears. Eyes closing, he exhales a sharp breath and his nostrils flare out. His jaw remains tense. It should have been more mortifying than it was, to have someone witness his anger finally explode.
He has slid down the very wall he assaulted. His mark has been left behind, and if he glances to the holes he might feel a tingling of shame. But that ugly feeling still courses through him. It has teeth. He doesn't think he has always been this way. The violence was something instilled within him.
Leon only opens his eyes when Hannibal lowers himself and begins his treatment. Though he doesn't look at the man. Nor the wound. His eyes are fixed ahead, he's doing his best to contain himself again while Hannibal carefully tends to a rather stupid injury.
The sentiment behind his words catches him off guard. It's a kindness from an unexpected source. Maybe that's ignorant of him. To think that a former-employee of Umbrella must be cold-hearted or cruel by nature, when others would think a highly trained agent might be able to self-regulate his own emotions before a fist drove through a wall. Just like that, the anger finally starts to evaporate.
".......... .......... thankyou." For the words. For the care. For whatever Hannibal wants to be thanked for. It's subtle, but Leon leans slightly towards the other man. It doesn't help him whatsoever with his wound care. It's him selfishly seeking out gentleness, even if it's just him existing near the source.
