#the grifter

You wish he'd call. Although it's still unclear if it would help or not.

He usually shows up exactly when you don't want him to. Your fights. Your missions. Your fucking me time. It's like he has a sixth bullshit sense that lets him know when to bother and piss you off. Like now, for example.

You're bleeding, you can tell that much. Shit went sideways almost immediately, and while you could just pop some stitches in the worst wound and call it a day, it was too close this time. You didn't get reckless or dumb, but you are not invincible. It's almost inevitable that something like this happens. Still hate it, tho. Still gonna complain about it the whole way.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You're pretty sure you just knocked something definitely made of glass while trying to get out of your stupid suit, but it's a tomorrow problem. Right now problem is pants. And boots. Probably also every single wound that's slowly oozing blood onto your carpet. You manage to get into the bathroom relatively undressed, and that's when you catch a look at yourself in the mirror.

"Jesus fucking christ". Grumbling under your breath you get in the shower, figuring getting the grime off first is probably the best you can do for now. Through the sound of cascading water, you miss your alarms being turned off, your window opening and closing and then the sound of heavy boots landing in the middle of the living room. It's a state to how utterly exhausted you are, rather than a testament to your skill. You're damn paranoid when you need to be. But the past few weeks have been, well, ass. You barely got any sleep, the fights been getting longer and harder, and while a little bit of a challenge is sometimes welcome, you got sloppy today. Probably fucked up, majorly. You didn't even have time to eat a proper meal in a week for fucks sake. You're just tired, so fucking tired.

Getting out of the shower is a bit of a struggle, but somehow you pull through. Barely putting on underwear, you start to observe the damage through bleary eyes.

"And here I thought I would have to take you out on a date first." His smug voice hits you first, then his overall presence leaning against the doorframe of the bathroom, and then the knife you have stashed underneath the sink that lands just a little over to the right of his goddamned eyeball.

"What the fuck do you want?" You weren't really aiming to kill him. If you wanted to, he'd probably be dead already. Which just begs the question of why the hell haven't you yet?

He's infuriating, obnoxious, arrogant and self-absorbed. He's also skilled, and objectively attractive, but it's not like you work in an industry filled with people that are not that. He's not that different. Except for moments in the past where she actually realized how similar they are. It wasn't often that you got to be emotionally vulnerable with anyone. Vulnerability is usually a death sentence. But with him, a few moments managed to slip past. He started it too, which was surprising. A close call here, a quiet moment there. You got closer. Worse, you got attached. The worst, is that you actually have no idea if he had that same disgusting epiphany, or if he's just doing what he always does. Con people. Be the Grifter. I'd be annoying if he wasn't so respectfully good at it. God, you can feel a headache forming behind your eyes.

"Can't I visit a friend?" He slowly stalks forward, but stops at a somewhat regular distance, which is strange on it's own, considering he doesn't really believe in personal space. But answering a question with another question is just the icing on the cake.

"I don't have the energy for this right now Cash. Come back when I'm not about to pass out from exhaustion. And probably like, blood loss." The last part is mumbled out, and it's like all the fight has been finally drained from you.

You look pale, is the first thing he notices. The second, is the fuckload of bruises and cuts all over your body. A bullet hole there, barely patched up. How the hell have you been functioning like this?

He heard from the grapevine that your job went south an hour ago. It's not like he's worried. He knows you can handle yourself, hell, sometimes he even has the self-awareness to admit that you might just be better than him, but something's been changing recently. He liked you the second he met you. Sure, at first it was purely physical, I mean he can't help it once he sees a pretty lady, but then he got to meet you. Got to spend hours talking with you about nothing and then everything. He figured he was fucked right around the time he told you about Max. He's not a coward, tho. He took a leap, and while aware it may never work out, considering you barely tolerate him on a good day, he figured at least he could try. It's not his first time being turned down, not a biggie. And maybe if he dropped everything once he heard the news tonight just so he could see for himself that you're fine, then what? Friends do that, right?

You are not fine, however. He can slowly feel himself getting that itch in his hands, begging him to go find whoever thought they could lay their hands on you and fucking break them, but he hears your soft sigh as you try to find anything to patch yourself up with from the med kit, he calms down. At least enough to help you. Later, he'll kill the bastards. Maybe just take you with him and watch you do it yourself.

He slowly steps closer and grabs your hand, stopping the motions of retrieving medical supplies.

"Let me, hm?" Cole said in a voice so soft, she almost forgot who she was looking at.

He took off his mask in the meantime, his gloves laid on the counter beside them. You slowly turn around, raising your head and looking him in the eye. It almost seemed like he was holding something back. She could feel the tension rising, but as soon as it happened, the spell broke. You finally got through his defenses; could finally see the man that hides behind shitty jokes, bravado and general idiocy. Because the man in front of you looked scared. You took a deep breath, for what seemed like the first time in a long while.

"Okay. Just… take it easy, alright? I've kind of had enough for one week." It was meant to be said like a joke, but it fell flat. He smiled; and not his usual cocky grin, it was gentle, almost.

"Sure, honey. Whatever you need." Your breath hitched at his words, almost spellbound you rose up and hopped on the counter to give him easier access.

He slowly and methodically bandaged you up. Every time you hissed or cursed in pain, he's apologize, murmuring sweet nothings, hoping to somehow soothe you. He was still raging on the inside, but taking care of you sort of became a priority in his mind. His touch was featherlight, never really knowing how to be gentle but trying anyway. He worked in silence, not knowing how to really break it. He wanted to say a million things, but he couldn't bring himself to break whatever the hell was happening between you two just now. Cash also felt like you were realistically too exhausted to even process what was going on.

As he wrapped the remaining wounds in gauze, he slowly touched your face, afraid of spooking you. Cupping your cheek in his hand, his finger making small patterns. For a second, he thought that he could get used to this. Making sure you're well taken care of, patching you up, comforting you. As foreign as it felt, Cole didn't feel the mortifying fear of being vulnerable in front of someone.

"Come on. I'll bring you something to wear and we can put you to bed, yeah?" She slowly lowered herself onto the cold tiles and swayed a bit in one place. She blinked, and Cole reappeared with an old, tattered shirt that you usually wear to sleep. Like he knew. You put it on, and then felt him grab you behind the knees and over your back as he bend over to pick you up. You didn't have it in you to even fake a protest. He walked slowly, hugging you closely to his chest, and tucked you in when you guys reached the bed in the other room.

You looked at him for a second longer, almost afraid of him dispreading if you closed them. He must have seen something in your eyes, because he just smiled again, kissed your forehead, definitely lingering, and said: "Don't worry sweetheart. I ain't going anywhere. Rest up."