- zaltynn -

---

The nurses were finally gone.

It wasn't an announced decision, Vox neither discussing nor arguing with Alastor about it for a long week. There was simply one last night that they tended to him with Vox assisting, patiently being guided through the stitching and bandaging of Alastor's wound, and changing the solution in his IV; and the next morning they were nowhere to be seen.

Alastor refused to thank Vox. The whole situation was an overdue promise, and he wouldn't reward him for being a procrastinator.

Vox helped him quietly that morning, changing his bandages, helping dress him, and stretching him before carrying him out to the living room to his recliner.

He was quiet even as he set about breakfast, and Alastor watched as he fumbled and clattered around the kitchen.

"Do you even know how to cook?" Alastor ended up asking, after Vox twirled in an uncertain circle for the third time. This man was going to fry his own brains at this rate.

It suddenly made sense why all his previous meals had been bland and repetitive. He wondered how many had just been ordered take-out without his notice.

"I know how-!" Vox cried indignantly. "I just- This is a lot! I'm not ready-" he cut himself off with a heavy sigh, covering his face.

"'Not ready'?" he echoed, "Dear, whatever do you mean?"

Vox disappeared behind the counter, and Alastor could hear him settle on the floor.

"Vox?" he called, not getting an answer a second time.

Left wondering if Vox had crashed again, Alastor silently counted out a whole minute and a half -the longest a crash has ever lasted in his presence- and still heard nothing. There was no tell-tale static crackling or buzzing of agitated electronics.

He was so quiet Alastor almost wondered if he'd left somehow without moving, but Alastor knew he was still there, the near-silent whirring of his fans giving him away.

"Vox, dear-" he felt uneasy, unsure of how to proceed, "Answer me?"

Silence.

Vox didn’t ignore him- he practically couldn't. Vox had a tendency to trip over his own feet in any attempt to get Alastor what he needed. He was always in some kind of motion when something was wrong; he fidgeted and stuttered and more. The last time he'd been out of sorts like this, he'd run away to seek Velvette's advice.

Alastor was never told what he sought her out for specifically, but considering it had been him who drove Vox away after that first bath, it was likely Alastor's fault somehow. The conversation afterwards in which Vox had promised to 'fix everything,' was a little telling.

Unfortunately, hiding away behind the island in their kitchen wasn't fixing anything.

Alastor whipped his blanket off his lap, glaring down at his useless legs. He urged them to move, to twitch, to do anything, but of course, they remained still.

He suppressed a growl, his husband probably on the edge of some kind of breakdown a solid reminder that now was not the time to dwell on his own issues. He took as deep a breath as he could manage to prepare himself.

This would be the first time he's actually tried to move about the house on his own. Alastor didn't expect it to be pleasant or easy.

He pushed himself forward to the edge of his chair, his upper-body despising the effort needed. He turned around and slid himself down the footrest until he dropped onto the floor.

The footrest pushed him as it sprung back up without his weight to keep it down, hitting his chest and shoulder. He pinned a hand to his smile to muffle the cry of pain that escaped him.

Without waiting for the agony to die down, he arranged his legs straight from where they had landed askew, and started scooting himself backwards towards the kitchen. It was painfully slow-going, Alastor only able to drag himself inches at a time, and having to pause to pull his IV stand closer every few feet. He'd almost made the decision to disconnect it, but the pain burning through his body was only just bearable and he knew it would only get worse if he did.

Slowly, he could see into the kitchen when he glanced over his shoulder, and soon he could spot where his husband had retreated. Vox had balled himself up on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees and hiding his face.

"Vox?" he panted, out of breath. He pulled himself one inch closer, his arms sore and trembling viciously.

Still, Vox did not reply.

Indignation sprung up inside of him, hating Vox's behaviour because it was so unlike him. Alastor pushed himself closer, and struck out with a rapid backhand to Vox's shoulder to properly demand his attention.

Vox's head snapped up, the screen flickering to life. He had turned his display off, and likely his auditory processors as well, to get a moment to wallow to himself.

There were clear tear streaks running down his face, and his eyes widened as he spotted him, "Al? What the fuck are you doing-" He scrambled to sit on his knees and reached over to grab him, "How the hell did you get over here?" Vox glanced over to the living room and back to Alastor, disbelief on his face.

Alastor, safely in Vox's arms, reached out and grabbed Vox by his display. He wiped away a tear, and offered a teasing smile, "My, you're a right mess, Vox. Are omelettes really something to cry over?"

Vox scoffed, sitting back cross-legged and he pulled Alastor into his lap effortlessly. He scrubbed his face dry and embraced Alastor into a hug, mumbling into his shoulder, "S'not the omelettes."

The tight hug hurt, with the burning of his injury and the strain from dragging himself over combining into an overwhelming collection of pains. Still, Alastor bore it for Vox's sake, allowing himself to be something for Vox to comfort himself with.

"I should hope not, you haven't even got an onion out," Alastor joked.

Vox didn’t laugh, which was fine. He fell quiet, again, running his hands up and down Alastor's back in repetitive motions. Self-soothing, most likely. Vox was lucky Alastor was wearing a shirt today, otherwise the touch might've been too unbearable to stand.

Alastor waited impatiently for Vox to come back to his senses, having enough time to catch his breath and for his back to begin to ache with the awkward position they were in. The floor didn't look comfortable at all, and he wondered how long Vox would've sat there had he not managed to crawl over.

"I dare say it's about time you speak about what all this is about," Alastor said, purposely leaning back in Vox's arm to create space between them. If Alastor was going to be forced to talk about feelings, then it best be done face to face, where he could analyze what Vox was and wasn't saying.

Vox sighed, trying to avert his eyes, but Alastor tapped on his screen to recapture his attention.

"Al-" he took a deep breath, probably hyping himself up, "Alastor, I love you-"

"I know."

Vox gave him a look, but the corner of his mouth twitched with a smile. "I love you," he repeated, "But everything lately has been… a lot."

Alastor hummed, starting to get the picture.

Seeing as he wasn't going to respond, Vox continued, "I don't regret saving you, because it's been amazing having you as my- my husband. It's not exactly what I pictured, but I'm happy you're here with me now."

Alastor hummed again, encouraging him to continue. It would be nice if Vox just started singing his praises, but he was waiting for the shoe to drop. The phrasing Vox used was mildly peculiar, a little note being written in the back of his mind to revisit it someday.

"Your injuries were so much worse than I was expecting-"

There it was.

"And you hated the nurses, and I did too- but- now I have to do everything-"

"Not everything," he interrupted.

Alastor put a hand to Vox's mouth when he went to disagree.

"I still have my hands," he tapped his fingers across his screen as a gentle reminder. "I am improving, if my venture from my chair means anything," he gestured to the living room. "I can handle the stitching, if that's too much; I could help with the cooking, if that’s too overwhelming; we can discuss the terms, Vox. A contract is signed with two signatures."

Vox was watching him, wide-eyed and uncertain.

Alastor could understand his hesitation; two months ago he had quite literally been on his deathbed and had to be cared for in every sense of the word. Now, however, Alastor was on the mend, and everything that needed done was possible between him and Vox. They don't need outside help anymore, the nurses having taught them all they needed to know.

Vox's insecurity just needed more reassurance. Alastor would have to come up with more ideas on how to beat it out of Vox, and soon. Perhaps he could involve Velvette if Vox counted on her enough for advice in the past.

"Alastor, you can't even walk-"

Alastor grimaced, the sentence coming across like a slap to the face. "No," he conceded with no small injury to his pride, "But I made it over here to snap you out of this… funk, did I not?"

"Well-"

"I did," Alastor continued, "And I will do so again, if needed." Alastor smirked, and tried to lift the mood, "You're a big, scary overlord, you should be better behaved than this. Pitching fits on your kitchen floor? Last I checked, you're not a child."

Vox's face was downtrodden, like he'd taken insult from the comment. Alastor just barely withheld a click of his tongue, as that hadn't been the desired outcome. Vox was more emotionally distraught than he'd hoped.

"I don't want to hurt you," Vox pulled Alastor back in for another hug, and Alastor let him.

"You haven’t yet."

Vox fell silent again.

Alastor sighed shortly, wishing desperately his chest could handle something more dramatic. "So what if you did? I'm already hurt- I'm hurting right now! This is Hell, who knows how many times I've been injured in the past? What's it matter? I'll be hurt again in the future, I'm sure!"

His rambling probably sounded manic, as Vox's grip on him tightened. It was enough to earn a squeak from Alastor, and Vox quickly pulled back, "See? I'm just going to ruin this-"

Alastor felt himself unsteady. "Vox!" a spike of panic shot through him as he desperately grabbed Vox by his shirt before he could fall over. "You are going to hurt me if you keep washing out!" he sneered.

Vox sputtered out apologies, encircling his arms around Alastor again.

Alastor let his weight crumble against Vox, ending up with his forehead resting against Vox's. He took a moment, just to acknowledge his pain and to feel sorry for himself. "Vox, I don’t know how to make this clearer than I already have. You've contributed to keeping me alive this long, and any mishaps we'll make on the way can be fixed. I'll heal, and we'll be able to put this behind us. We have a deal," he fidgeted with his rings, "and I am still capable."

Vox just watched him, and took a deep breath. "Right," he nodded against Alastor's forehead, a small static friction teasing at his bangs. "We have a deal," he whispered, almost reverently. "I said I'd fix it, and here you are telling me off again."

He huffed, "I am."

"I'm sorry, Al."

"Don't make me do this again."

"I won't. I'll actually do it right this time."

Alastor pulled away from Vox, asking, "Now, if you're finished with this… tantrum?"

Vox nodded again, "Not a tantrum, but, yeah. I'm done."

"Good," Alastor flicked his screen, enjoying the sparks and offended noise it got him. "Let's see about breakfast, then. Set me down at the table," he demanded.

Vox gathered Alastor up into his arms, and grunted as he got to his feet. He must be feeling stiff after sitting on the floor like that for… Alastor doesn't know how long it's been.

Vox paused, seeing how far the distance from the kitchen to the living room was. "Did you really crawl all the way over here?" he asked, sounding touched.

Alastor crossed his arms, "Well, what else was I to do?"

Vox kicked the IV stand along with them as he stepped over to the dining room table, using his foot again to pull out a chair to deposit Alastor in. "Are you sure about sitting here? You said you were in pain, right?" his hands hovered.

"Breakfast is far more important to me than that, right now," Alastor waved a hand, hoping to dismiss Vox's concern.

He'd had enough vulnerability for the next week, and he didn't want to discuss how the ache in his back was making the harsh wooden chair twice as uncomfortable as it would've been.

"Okay," Vox turned back to the kitchen, looking about at the mess he's made. Some ingredients were pulled out already, and the cutting board was on the stove and the frying pan was on the counter. Luckily, he hadn't turned on the burner before Alastor had interrupted him, else they would've had a fire on their hands.

"Bring the cutting board here, dear?" Alastor patted the table in front of him.

Vox flit his gaze back and forth, "Are you sure?"

He gave Vox a flat stare, "What did we just agree on?"

"Right! Right," he hastily grabbed a knife, the cutting board, and some of the vegetables. He delivered them to Alastor, and returned to the fridge to get out the eggs and milk to start beating the egg mixture.

Alastor struggled a little with the dicing, his muscles burning at the repetitive motions after tiring them out so terribly. He would not show himself defeated by mere breakfast ingredients, however, especially not after just gaining an understanding with Vox to allow him to help bear the burden of his injured state.

It turned out that Vox could cook, retrieving Alastor's contributions and frying up a decent pair of omelettes stacked with cheese. The meal tasted better than previous ones, and Alastor liked to think it was because he had a hand in it.

While they ate, they discussed some of the other things that had Vox so overwhelmed, and which of them Alastor would be strong enough to try.

He was still hungry as Vox washed up the dishes.

---

Velvette took him to some fancy looking jewelry store, the banner painted in gold but half of the letters missing from the sign. Half of the windows were boarded up or covered in a combination of newspaper and cardboard, so Vox knew it was a good pick. 

Only the actually valuable places got robbed from and managed to stay open down here in Hell. He wondered if it had the backing of an overlord or if it was just that profitable it could manage to hold its own and purchase servicable security. 

Velvette was the first to step in, already having taken pictures and starting a review on her phone. She docked points for the awful exterior, calling it 'shabby.' 

"Welcome in!" they were greeted by a sinner with some moose-like features. She wore a tattered and stained uniform, and stood sentinel behind some of the counters where a computer showing a live security feed could be clearly seen on display. "Looking for anything in particular?" she asked. 

Velvette was the one to answer her, "This shit-head is looking for a pair of weddings rings."

"Oh," for a jeweler, she actually seemed surprised. "Congratulations! Are you the bride-to-be?" 

"Ha! He wishes."

The sinner, who Vox could see her battered and stickered nametag read 'Deyanne,' nodded in understanding, "Ah, so this is a surprise for the fiancé then?"

Velvette blinked, turning to Vox, "Oh shit, Vox, you need an engagement ring too-"

Vox nearly slapped himself, his hands rose to his head so fast, "Oh fuck- I'm doing this all wrong-"

Deyanne chuckled, "Are we just hunting for an engagement ring then?" She glanced between them.

"Uh, well-" Vox flustered, for once hesitating. Should he just start with an engagement ring? Oh but he told Alastor he had his wedding ring. Did they skip the engagement? But that sounded so wrong-

Velvette came to his rescue, making the decision for him; "That one's just a replacement, they've been putting it off so long they lost it, y'see." 

She made a long sigh of understanding, "Ahh, that's unfortunate. So you're looking for an upgrade and to finally get the ball rolling?" She grabbed out a small stack of sticky notes, and a chewed up pencil that was on its last legs. She started writing in short-hand, nothing that Vox could understand. 

"Sure!" he readily agreed. Whatever made her ask less questions. It was a solid story anyway. Things and belongings were highly likely to get stolen down here, everyone on the bottom rung scrabbling to make a survival. You had to be extremely lucky not to start from scrap down here. 

"Alrighty!" Deyanne perked up, tapping her shortened pencil on the sticky note, "I can show you some of our dual rings if you like, a package deal sounds just like what you need!" 

She ushered the two of them to follow her, unlocking a display case just a few steps over from her station. 

"These are what's currently popular," she reached in and pulled out the centermost display tray and put it out on the countertop so they could have a better view of it. She pointed out a few of them, talking as she went along, "Ladies love the big rocks, of course, and our selections come in authentic or lab grown. 'Course we do have smaller or more subtle if your other half prefers it that way?" 

Vox didn't answer right away, busy looking at the selection in front of him. They all glittered in the flickering overhead lights, large diamonds and various other precious stones. Most of these were two rings nestled together, complimenting each other or being a stark opposition that managed to still be charming. 

Vox realized he'd have to pick out something that Alastor would like. Would Alastor like a large diamond?

Deyanne addressed Vox again, looking him up and down skeptically, "Would you happen to know if your partner wears silver or gold?"

Vox almost bluescreened. Alastor didn't wear jewelry, and he has hundreds of hours of footage to prove it. The man liked to occasionally dress up, but it was limited to his different top hats, various pocket squares and bowties. He varied more in the cuts of his suits than he did in accessorizing. 

Vox thought about what colours Alastor usually wore, and if his palette would compliment either metal better. Alastor wore a lot of red, and also black. His staff was the same. Alastor's monocle was, again, black and red. 

Vox wondered... "Can rings come in black?" 

Deyanne perked right up, "They sure can! I've got a few different shades to choose from over this way-" she replaced the tray and locked the case before heading down a few sections. She waved him over, pulling open a pamphlet that sat on the counter. 

Vox took the pamphlet, which displayed alternative metals to choose from. He didn't even know gold could come in white. 

"-Tungsten is a good choice if you want to go pure black, or you can choose obsidian for more of a statement, but it's a bit harder to pair with." 

She let him look over the metals for a minute, and Vox found he liked the black tungsten over the steel or coloured sterling silver. He tapped a claw on the picture thoughtfully, nodding. 

"...Anything you can tell me style wise?" she gently pressed. 

Vox again thought about Alastor's wardrobe, and how he staunchly believed in being presentable at all times. He preferred the style of his own times, rejecting or straight up insulting more modern designs. "...classy?" he generalized.

"I can work with classy! Are we going for more masculine or feminine?"

Vox blushed, "Oh, the ring's for a man-"

They were interrupted by the sound of shattering glass, a brick flying through the window like they were starring in a cheesy movie. A sinner jumped through the now broken window, shouting and demanding diamonds from them all. 

Vox and Velvette watched on in intrigue as the employee didn't scream, already reaching under the counter to pull out a shotgun. She expertly blast the burglar in the face, stopping the threat instantly.

She discharged the spent shell and placed the gun down on the counter, moving down a display to the next one. She pointed out a few styles beneath her, completely unbothered, "‐So what do you think of these ones here?" 

"Uhm-" Vox blinked hard, glancing at the now dead sinner oozing blood all over the carpet and display case next to him. A small droplet of blood had landed on his shoe.

"Ooh, I like her," Velvette grinned, pointing. 

"Does... does that happen often?" Vox asked, pointing vaguely. 

Deyanne laughed, waving a hand, "Of course, this is Hell, after all!" she gestured widely to the world outside. "You can't run a business down here without some security measures. A big jewelry store like us can't make business if we can't keep our stock, after all." 

"I am a little surprised you don't got a bodyguard in here, though," Velvette asked, leaning on the counter.

The employee nodded, "I wish that were the case, but my boss doesn't want to hire more than strictly necessary. That's why I'm the only one here at the moment," she gestured around at the otherwise empty store. 

"You're rather comfortable telling us this." 

"Ah, but Mr. Vox, you should be well acquainted with this kind of thing! Business is cutthroat down here, and cutting corners and killing problematic employees is simply part of the game. Now, saying that," she leaned in, holding a cupped hand to her mouth conspiratorially, "It would help me a ton if you bought a lot today and secured me as our top seller this month." 

Velvette was practically vibrating, grabbing her fellow Vee and shook him aggressively, "Vox! I like her, we can't let her die! Hurry up and pick something out!" 

---

The creak of the front door woke Alastor from his nap. His ears perked against his will, hearing Vox humming excitedly. His steps were light and fast to approach Alastor, almost tapping in dance. 

"Alastor?" Vox asked softly, coaxing, "Are you awake?"

As Alastor wiped the lingering sleep out of his eyes, he took in the gorgeous suit Vox was now wearing and the fact that he was kneeling in front of his recliner, presenting a velvet ring box. Vox went the whole nine yards, apparently a showman to the core. 

"Al!" he smiled as they made eye contact. It was huge, taking up nearly his whole screen. The bright flush across his screen an evident blush, and the set of his shoulders screamed pride. 

It was adorable. 

"I have your ring, here-" he indicated the box eagerly. "I hope you like it! Uhm! Still! Like- like you did before?" 

Alastor puffed an amused breath, short to prevent aggravating his injuries. "Thank you, sweetheart. Give it here," he overturned an open hand, unable to lean forward to grab it.

Vox, appearing shocked like he forgot that Alastor was immobile, scrambled back to his feet to close the gap between them. He stepped aside the ejected footrest, planting a hand on Alastor's thigh he couldn't feel. He placed the ring box in Alastor's waiting hand, watching attentively as the other opened it.

The box was a plain black, and creaked with stiff joints as he popped it open. The inside was a decadent silk red with two rings sitting expectantly centered. The first ring was a simple band, black metal shining like it was band new. The second was more elegant, black like it's partner but encrusted with a trio of diamonds and elaborate engravings. 

They were stunning, but that was all.

Alastor felt a spike of disappointment, not a single memory jumping to the front of his mind as he'd hoped. How precious could this bond be to him if he didn't remember a single thing of it? 

He accused himself of being a poor spouse, as he carefully plucked the rings from their setting, seeing the two were soldered together at the bottom to artfully display them together. Had that been Alastor's or Vox's decision?

The answer wouldn't come from him, and he felt like he couldn't ask Vox. It didn't matter, really. 

Alastor slipped it onto his left ring finger, and it slid over his claw and knuckles in a perfect fit. He held his hand up to get a good look, vaguely aware of Vox's expectant stare. 

The moment was muted. 

Alastor stared at the rings on his finger, trying to admire them, but something was off. They looked out of place there, the black bands too shiny against the smooth dark pigment of his fur. Were they supposed to blend in or stand out? It looked like they couldn't decide. 

They... felt like they didn't belong. 

The sensation of them on his finger was foreign, and he could tell it wasn't the amnesia. Regardless if he remembered owning them or not, his body would've had some kind of muscle memory of their constant presence or their as of late absence. 

Alastor wondered if the rings were still a new addition in his life, that maybe this was the kitchen all over again, and that Vox and him were still considered newlyweds. 

"Al?" Vox was hovering, twisting a ring around his own finger. It was similar to his, a striking blue stripe down its centre instead of being adorned with precious stones. "How- Does it- Do you like it?" his voice was unsure and small. It wasn't often Alastor heard uncertainty in Vox, and the opportunity shone brightly to him.

He could say anything, and regardless if it were positive or negative, Vox's reaction would be a spectacle to see. 

It only took him a moment to decide on gratitude, the only appropriate way to respond to such a gift. Besides, the rings themselves were lovely, even if they felt wrong on him. He'd get over it eventually. 

He put on a perfect smile, "They're wonderful, dear. I'm just sorry that this didn't strike up any memories." 

Vox seemed to melt in relief. Alastor couldn't tell why he was so nervous about it. It wasn't like he was proposing all over again. 

"That's okay, Al, we know your memories might never return. It just means we have to make new ones," Vox entwined their left hands together, displaying the pairs of rings together to admire them.

Alastor hummed, unsure what to say.

Vox leaned down and pressed a kiss to Alastor's forehead, "I'm glad you like them." 

"Yeah," Alastor agreed, raising his free hand to swipe at the spot on his head. 

It wasn't the first time Vox has kissed him, all of them thus far only on the hand or forehead. He... supposed they should exchange normal kisses as a couple, shouldn't they? Now would be a good time for it? 

Swallowing against creeping unease, Alastor reached up and cupped Vox's display with a hand. He gently pulled, and Vox blushed as he leaned in obediently. 

"Al?" he asked, his voice full of anticipation. 

Discomfort suddenly curled deep in his being, and he couldn't do it.

Alastor aborted at the last second, just planting his kiss on Vox's cheek instead. He released his husband, and sank into his chair like it could protect him. He waited for Vox's response, hoping he hadn't disappointed him.

Vox's face flushed brighter than he's ever seen before, a dopey smile growing across his screen. He then promptly crashed, his screen falling dark and his body locking up as it steamed. 

Alastor's smile widened, amused by the event every time it occurred. Vox's biology as a sinner was by far one of the most intruiging cases that he could recall. 

Alastor also knew that only he could evoke such a reaction from him, based off his own stories and those he's heard from Velvette. Vox was a charismatic and controlled overlord that knew what he was doing and how to propose a deal right. Vox's love for Alastor was such a unique influence on himself that threw his composure completely out the window, and Alastor found it endlessly fascinating. 

These… feelings were real, he thought. He didn't know if it could be called love, but he'd just have to keep searching for it. Hopefully, it would return to him soon along with his memories.

Vox was quick to reboot, blinking back to life with his blush lingering. He unlocked his joints, minute readjustments that Alastor watched with interest. 

"Al- you- me-" he stuttered, static still fully-charged in the air around him. That adorable dopey smile was still there. 

"Yes?"

"A kiss-" he released Alastor's hand to dance around in a circle. "A kiss-!" he repeated, shaking, "Oh my god, he kissed me!" 

Alastor huffed his unfortunately restrained laugh, immensely amused. 'Honestly...' he thought fondly, shaking his head. Vox was so unbelievably smitten with him. 

---

Alastor was out of his room for the first time since his injury.

The introduction to Vox's business partners had unearthed a great hunger in him that wasn't just in his stomach, but gaping just behind where his wound burned nigh-on constantly with agony. 

The food Velvette had gotten him was delicious, and he only wished he had savoured it for longer, because Vox refused to get it for him again. He stated that what he's been feeding him all along has been plenty, though Alastor's atrophied and malnourished body would like to argue otherwise. 

So Alastor was finally getting ruined by a small case of cabin fever. He got a taste of the outside world, and the fatigue and pain could go drown in a river for all he could care. This was probably long overdue, but the sheer amount of pain and drugs he was dealing with understandably made the world a little unclear at times.

So after some negotiations (which included the input of the nurses' despite Alastor's liking), Alastor was allowed out of his tomb.

He and his husband were in their living room, where Vox was sprawled across the spacious couch. He was just far enough away that his features were blurry to Alastor, with the colourful little holographic displays all around him, impossible for Alastor to read at this distance.

Alastor was laid back and tucked in cozily into the most comfortable plush reclining chair Vox could buy. He said it was purchased strictly for him, and Alastor had gotten to listen to Vox huff and complain as he rearranged their living room from down the hall. He was so very entertaining when he was ticked. 

Vox had been immensely careful of his injuries when he'd brought him out here, setting him down with the care of showing off fine china, and even being nice enough to support his back and knees with extra pillows. It was more attentive and thoughtful than when he'd first given Alastor a bath, and again he thought about how nice it would be that Vox dismiss the nurses already. 

It didn't sound like they initially liked the idea of moving Alastor around more than necessary, but considering they've already given Vox the run-down on how to carry him properly, they couldn't object much.

Not since Alastor had been getting restless enough to threaten to get up on his own, despite knowing that he couldn't. 

The compromise was to let him out into the living room, but he wasn't allowed to lift a finger to do it himself. Well, they let him be in charge of dragging along his IV stand so Vox could focus on keeping a steady pace with Alastor in his arms. 

Since The Vee Meeting, as he'd taken to calling it, Alastor was permitted to get taken off oxygen support entirely, but the nurses were adamant that he wasn't anywhere near ready to wean off any of the medications they had him on. His pain was too great at times even with the concoction, and he still desperately needed the antibiotics while the major wound itself was still struggling to close properly and cracking open at the slightest insult. 

Most of the time the wound was pulled shut with countless stitches, which have been popped open thrice this week alone. Vox mentioned once he'd thought about sedating him during the night to try and get it under control, but the idea was shelved, mostly due to Alastor's protests (threats). 

So regardless that Vox manhandling him caused his pain to flare and how pulling along the less than ten pounds of IV-stand-and-solution utterly exhausted him, Alastor was as pleased as a peach. 

The main apartment was a whole new world of different furniture and paintings to catalogue, including a window he could actually see out of. The view was blurry, as his near-sightedness made the landmarks hard to spot. He might be remembering the city wrong, but he guessed their home was somewhere to the West.

There was a bookshelf tucked awkwardly behind the couch, so Alastor was only barely able to distinguish the spines out of the corner of his periphery. Alastor would have to twist a little too far for his battered body to handle, so he was instead left to be entertained by the large two-hundred inch TV that was the feature of the far wall. 

Vox had given him the remote, so Alastor could peruse any of the channels he liked, or to look through the mountain of streaming services for any movie that piqued his fancy. 

Nothing really caught his eye, and as his energy dwindled, he no longer cared what was playing, so long as he had something new to look at. 

So, crappy romantic comedies it was.

The only downside of being freed was that Alastor now had partial view of the kitchen, which was atrocious. It was modern, like most of Vox's things, but it was painfully out of use. There weren't nearly enough signs of wear and tear that Alastor could see, but maybe the apartment was still new. 

Alastor hoped he'd gotten hurt before he could break in their new kitchen. The apartment as a whole wasn't entirely to his liking, feeling too… impersonal for a shared home residence. Alastor struggled to find a single knick-knack that felt like it belonged to himself. 

The only thing that called to him was the empty kitchen, so Alastor knew he loved to cook. There were too many fragments of recipes floating around his fuzzy head not to. Vox had promised he'd fill the kitchen with any ingredient and equipment he'd like… As soon as he was well enough. What 'well enough' would be in that case, Alastor didn’t know, but he hoped it would be soon.

The untouched kitchen bothered him, but he could convince himself to ignore it with the promise of 'soon…' So next he had to contend with the ever present feelings of his body, protesting every action he took. The pain was at times soul-rending, but right now the drugs were working and he was floating, tired but reluctant to sleep. He's done enough sleeping, and he especially didn't want to because Vox was here. 

Vox's missteps in communication aside, he was becoming a decent caretaker. Vox had taken him seriously and gotten him out into the living room when he didn't have to; and he gave him baths when he asked, even though he had acted so weirdly that first time.

The only thing missing was the wound care. Alastor was sure Vox could do it if he only just took the time to learn how.

Alastor was prepared to thwart any excuse that Vox could come up with.

Considering nearly two months has passed now with nary a complaint from his company, Vox was well capable of working remotely full-time and staying with Alastor to protect him until he was able to do so himself again.

It was odd how adamant Vox was that the nurses stay onboard despite his preaching of keeping his injuries a secret.

Vox had hired those nurses to help Alastor get better since he himself wasn't knowledgeable, and Alastor had initially thought that it was so Vox could then go to work and earn the money to pay them, but it turned out to be completely different.

While Vox didn't know about medical care, he was capable of learning it, and was just refusing to take the last step. He was the one so concerned about information leaks, but was simultaneously the one doing the most telling. The whole situation was slowly annoying Alastor more and more.

Alastor remembered how Vox had laughed when he'd first expressed concern about everything; 'Al, you don't need to worry about money at all! Did you forget I own an entire company?'

As if money was the only concern here.

So Alastor has devised a plan: he would shower Vox with his attention and show that the extra help was no longer necessary; and it started with showing that he could handle these little adventures away from his bed. He'd prove that Vox could get rid of those poking and prodding nurses and that Vox could handle taking care of Alastor himself.

Vox hadn't said anything in a while, working and only occasionally glancing over to Alastor to make sure he didn't need anything. 

Being fine for the moment, Alastor really tried to retain what as playing on the TV. Vox might want to discuss what happened during it later, like a memory game. His quizzes on his general knowledge of the rest of Hell were still occasionally cropping up, so he tried not to let things slide by the wayside just in case. 

Anything to use as a part of his case against Vox.

Alastor's memory was a little hindered by the drugs, but thus far the amnesia seemed to be strictly for things in the past. Vox had said it was a good thing, that it wasn't preventing him from making and keeping new memories as well. 

The lack of his memories was an itching scab on his mind, mostly just an inconvenience and a source of boredom. He was, however, having success against his amnesia; some scents and actions with Vox came across as familiar, and those fragments of recipes were incomplete but clear. Progress was slow, but undoubtedly there, and he trusted Vox to fill in what refused to surface.

He wished he could say the same for the gash across his torso. At least the painful bruising all down his back was finally fading, unlike his wound. It was the most pressing of all his injuries, its eagerness to bleed and relentless waves of pain was somehow more restricting than the literal paralysis that left him reliant on others.

He was almost disgusted with himself, but the state of his body and mind didn't allow for his anger to simmer for long. He just didn't have the energy for it.

On the TV, an elaborate proposal gone wrong caught his attention. The two main characters were two imps dramatically in love constantly getting ripped apart by love triangle after love triangle. They were drenched from a fly-by vehicle that drove through a bloody puddle, and one of them was lamenting that their perfect evening was ruined. 

Alastor glanced down at his left hand, unadorned except for the IV and the medical tape that held it in place. His brows furrowed, "Vox?"

His husband hummed. It was distracted, heavy in the not-oft used filter. 

The effect was recently discovered by Alastor, who'd caught a half-asleep Vox using it unintentionally one evening. The filter was familiar to him, so he'd asked Vox to use it more often. Vox didn’t want to affect his reputation outside closed doors, so he agreed to only do so in complete privacy. 

"Where's my ring?" Alastor asked. 

Vox snapped his eyes over, making a swiping motion with his hand to dismiss all his holograms. "Your ring?" he echoed.

Alastor lolled his head to the side, to better let him watch his husband. He raised the hand in question, trying to ignore the trembling of it, "My wedding ring, did I lose it?"

He hoped he hadn't lost it in the battle that almost took his life. He could scarcely remember evading around a target on a small battlefield, then blinding pain followed by suffocating shadows. If he'd lost the ring amongst that, it must be long gone. 

Vox made a smattering of noises, ending with a half-chuckled, "Oh!" He shuffled his position down the large couch, scooting over to be adjacent to Alastor's chair. "Your ring! Of course!" He settled, leaning on the arm to reach over and take Alastor's hand. He frowned as he felt it tremble, but thankfully didn’t comment on it. 

"Where is it?"

"It, uh," he stuttered, and Alastor wondered if Vox was trying to find a soft way to tell him the news of its loss. Vox kept a steady hold on his hand while the other went to play with a corner of his screen, nervous. "Well, you know, we had to screen you once or twice while you were unconscious, and metal doesn't really agree with medical equipment…" Vox perked up, schooling his expression into an easy smile. "So yeah! It's perfectly safe, I just had to… remove it. For safe keeping."

Alastor relaxed with a long exhale he didn't know he was holding. His pain flared mercilessly at the action, and he dug his claws into Vox's hand tightly as he winced. 

The pain, white-hot and suffocating left him feeling like his torso was being split in twain all over again. He could almost hear the rustle of his assailant's clothes, their figure still a looming void in his recollection of that day. 

The agitated crackle of static in his ears warned him of his own panic. He felt starved for oxygen, holding in a desperate cough that wanted to escape him. 

"Hey, careful," Vox chided. "Small breaths only," he reminded, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his arm. Then, almost like an afterthought: "You're safe now."

Wrestling his panic down was an exercise of patience. 'Vox is right,' he repeated to himself mentally, 'I'm safe and recovering, and this display is completely unnecessary.'

Trying to shove the brilliant agony to the back of his mind, Alastor focused on carefully measuring the in-and-out of air in his weakened lungs. Rather than feeling the tight bandaging around his torso, he honed in on the gentle pressure of Vox's cool metal claws. They tugged through his short fur, almost overwhelmingly when they brushed it the wrong way. 

The discomfort grounded him in the worst way possible. Only Vox touched him like this. Alastor was with Vox, and despite how it felt, Vox meant safety. 

As the panic and pain eased slowly, his exhaustion renewed. The thought that he probably should be resting came easy, like he'd already thought of it recently, but he couldn’t let Vox think that this was too much for him to handle. 

Alastor doesn't know what he'd do if he was exiled back into the boring bedroom. 

He blinked slowly, trying to recall what set him off. "…What were we talking about?" Alastor forced himself to ask, his voice crackling softly.

Vox was leaned over awkwardly, taking the time to adjust to sitting on the arm of the couch instead. If Alastor weren't injured, he might've found a way to share the seat with him. Vox was still holding onto him, his grip tight like he was afraid. 

Vox's voice had that soft tone when he spoke, "I told you that I have your wedding ring tucked away safe and sound."

"Oh good," he whispered. The memory of just a few minutes prior was clearing up, and the prompt helped recall his worries, "I was afraid I'd lost it."

Vox blushed, if you'd believe it. "Really? You'd care that much for a ring?"

He nodded, "I'd hate if I lost it. The very symbol of our bond, gone forever? I… I don't know how I was before, but… If I said yes, it had to of meant something to me."

Marriage on earth was a big deal: family making, a show of commitment and all that, but ultimately a complete shadow to the undertaking that marriage in hell was. No, no, Alastor knew that creating bonds between sinners down here was downright dangerous. Vox must've meant everything to him to throw away such simple survival rules. 

Vox looked close to tears. "That- Thank you, Al," he wiped at his screen with a hand, and Alastor couldn't help but notice Vox wasn't wearing a ring either. 

"Where's yours?" slipped from his mouth before he could contain it. 

Vox glanced down, inspecting his hand like Alastor had done. "Oh," he deflated, his screen even dimming as well. "I didn’t want to upset you while yours was gone, so I took mine off too. Always together, like they're supposed to be," he smiled crookedly.

It was cute.

"Did… you want it back?" Vox looked away for a brief moment, contemplating. "I don't want to give it back if I just have to take it away again later," he trailed off. He tilted his head, looking directly into Alastor's eyes. "What do you want, love? I've kept it safe this long, and I will continue to do so, but it's your ring, and you've had enough taken from you lately."

The promise of choice was a cascade of relief over Alastor. Of course he wanted it back! "Yes," his voice was leaving him, weak lungs unable to keep up for much longer, "Yes, I'd like it returned."

"You're all worn out, dear. Take a rest," Vox instructed. Alastor's eyes eagerly slipped closed as Vox planted a tender kiss to his forehead, "I'll go get them cleaned and we'll be wearing them again in no time."

He hummed contentedly, unable to fight off sleep any longer as he heard Vox walk off. 

He dreamt of weddings. 

---

"Vel, holy shit!" the doors to her lab slammed opened with enough force to create cracks in the wall. 

"Ugh, Vox! My walls are not yours to break-" Velvette left her ladle stirring on its own in a bubbling cauldron as she spun around to chew a non-existent ear off her coworker. She didn't get that far, seeing Vox in his casuals and utterly gobsmacked. "What the fuck happened to you?" she asked, pulling her phone out to snap a picture. 

"Al! Rings! I don't have any!" Vox hurried closer, after ensuring the doors were properly closed behind him. "I need them yesterday!"

Velvette hopped off her stool, meeting Vox halfway, and promptly flashed her magic at him. In a second Vox was properly dressed in a smart suit, navy blue as he preferred, but with the right amount of flair that Velvette liked. "What in the seven rings are you on about?" she asked as she eyed him, antenna to oxfords. 

Yeah, he looked decent enough for now. 

"Alastor noticed we don't have wedding bands. I told him a lie, said I was going to get them cleaned before I return them. I need rings, now, Vel. Where do I even get rings?" he paced, clutching at his screen in clear distress. 

It was pathetic, so Velvette snapped a few more pictures and sent them off to Valentino. It was a fifty-fifty whether it'd make the moth either ragingly jealous or cackling with her over Vox's dumb decisions. 

"You told the Radio Demon you have wedding rings? Did you seriously tell him you two are married?" she hadn't been aware the ruse had fallen so far. She sure as shit didn't mean marriage when she told him to keep the lies rolling.

Did Valentino know about this?

"Yes!" Vox had the gall to look pleased with himself, "And he completely believes me, hook, line, and sinker. I probably should have remembered the whole rings thing earlier, but he didn’t object my lie of having taken them for safe keeping-"

"Vox, hold on-"

"-So all I gotta do is go out and buy a few rings and give 'em over. I already told him I'm getting them cleaned so he won't question the lack of wear on them-"

"Vox?"

"-And I was thinking you'd be a great pick to help choose some! Or do you like, keep rings here? That'd be really helpful, actually, so if you'd just hand over something simple-"

"Vox!" she grabbed a nearby bundle of ingredients and threw it at him, smacking him out of his rambling. 

The size of his face shrunk on his display, and the way his hands folded limply near his chest painted a rather 'kicked puppy' look. 

Velvette was quick to snap another photo before stepping closer and pressing a finger into his chest, "You are absolutely idiotic and hopeless, you know that, right?"

"Uhm-"

She flicked her hand up, knocking it against the edge of his screen. He glitched out for a millisecond as she popped a hip and rested her hand there. "Okay, so, you're deep in the doghouse 'cause you lost you and your hubby's rings. Easy enough to fix, I suppose," Velvette glanced around her lab, knowing it was the wrong station for jewelry, but she took the moment to recalibrate anyway. 

She would deal with Vox's emotionally-charged something with Alastor that made him decide on marriage and not just partnership later. For now, the cover story was at risk of breaking and they couldn't have that. It was rare for a sinner, let alone Alastor, to be that impressionable, and Velvette would not let Vox ruin such a golden opportunity. 

Besides, she was starting to like the guy, and didn't mind keeping him around.

She didn’t have any rings worth marrying with up in her studio anyway. They'd have to do this the traditional way. She pulled up her phone's map, searching for the nearest and most expensive jeweler's. If she was doing this, she'd be busting Vox's wallet while she's at it. Maybe she'd pick out a necklace or a pair of earrings for herself as payment for her involvement. 

Yes, that sounded perfect, maybe they'd have something worth a whole new line of clothes entirely. Could she get the jewelers under contract? Another collaborator was always welcome.

"Got a place," she started towards the elevator, already tapping away at her phone requesting a limo and providing the driver with info on where they'd be going. 

Vox lagged behind, blinking owlishly. 

"C'mon Vox, get your ass in gear, we got a diamond to pick out!"

He jolted into action, almost flitting over in an arc of electricity. The elevator doors closed right behind his tailcoat, and he tried to pull of casual by tucking his hands behind his back. "Thank you, Velvette," he said.

"Don't thank me, you owe me big time for this."

---

Vox was quick to go and close the door Velvette had left open, standing in front of it for a long moment. A part of him was glad this had gone over swimmingly, but most of him dreaded what this meant for the future. He sighed, letting the tension of the day drain from his shoulders.   

"Vox?" 

Steeling himself, he turned around to face Alastor, "Sorry about that." He scratched at the edge of his monitor's casing, rambling, "She's a little much to handle, but she's good at what she does. You should see some of the stuff she designs-" 

"You ran off earlier."

Vox fell silent, and fiddled with his shirt to avoid Alastor's piercing gaze. "No," he sounded pathetic even to himself. 

"You did," Alastor sounded pissed. "I struggle to understand why you would do so, when all I had expressed was a desire to feel content in my own home."

Vox looked up, watching with a sinking gut as Alastor started ticking things off on his fingers.

"You refuse to dress my wounds; you refuse to dismiss the nurses and instead deemed to tell our business partners; you won't even look at me while nude; and you've refused to discuss our state of affairs with me… " Alastor let his hands drop, huffing. He took a break to breathe before continuing, "You keep preaching that you're doing all you can to protect me from people who'd hurt me, but you're not actually doing that. You're letting outsiders in, you're telling people I'm hurt, you're taking ages to inform me of important things… I'm just confused about where we stand, Vox."

Alastor was out of breath by the end of his spiel, staring defiantly at Vox, whose gut was swirling uncomfortably. He really fucked up, if Alastor was already questioning everything. He'd thought his excuses were strong, because he was right as he said them. 

Vox wasn't a medic, of course he'd do something wrong and hurt Alastor more in the process. He hadn't known a lick of what to do before it was explained to him or after he'd looked it up. Vox had been a murderer, so he only knew how to end lives, not prolong them. 

Everything else just wasn't Alastor's business. Just like Vox's business wasn't Alastor's nude body, even if he really wanted to explore it to its fullest. He wanted to earn it, earn Alastor's trust and love, and somehow he'd ruined it all again. 

Was Vox just destined to be a failure?

Vox, realizing he'd left Alastor waiting, joined him on the bed. He sat, facing the wall, and sighed. "I didn't mean for this to get so out of hand," he said truthfully. "So much is on my plate right now, and I'm confused about what to do." He took a deep breath, turning to Alastor, "But I do know I want to make this work. I love you, Al," saying it out loud a second time felt almost as nerve-wracking as the first. "I'll fix everything," he promised.

Vox reached out for Alastor's hand, but the other pulled away. He was snippy as he explained, "You can start by getting rid of the nurses, and tending to me yourself."

"Okay," Vox swallowed his fear and apprehension, "Okay." 

He would have to figure it out, if it was the key to earning Alastor's love. 

---

Later that night, Vox got a ping from Velvette to let her into his elevator. He sent it down to her with a thought, his powers connecting to the system effortlessly. 

He woke a sleeping Alastor, to properly warn him of their incoming company this time, and went to meet her by the door. Earlier, after Alastor refused to talk to him in favor of napping, Vox had locked the nurses away in the bathroom so he could have the common room to himself. 

He'd spent most of the evening pacing, trying to make a decision on how to proceed. He needed to really start acting like Alastor's husband, but he didn't know where to start.

Velvette showed up with a grumpy Valentino behind her, the both of them carrying bags of takeout and makeover supplies. 

"Val?" Vox was surprised to see him, "Listen-"

"I'm not here for you, Vox," Valentino must still be mad, going by the tense edge in his voice. "Velvette offered me a good deal to entertain this," he shoved past him. 

Vox turned to Velvette, "What did you promise him?"

She dumped a greasy bag into his hands, the logo of his preferred burger joint on it.  "That's between me and him, your job this evening is to not piss any of us off more than you already have. Have you and your beau made up?"

She started marching off to the bedroom after Valentino, forcing Vox to trail after her once again that day. "'My beau'? You mean Val? He's clearly still mad- He won't talk to me-"

"No, no, Vox, Alastor. Did you have to grovel at his feet to get his forgiveness?" 

"What?"

By now, they've all funneled into the spare bedroom, which was feeling quite smaller than it actually was with this many people in it. The nurses tended to shrink in on themselves to make themselves as easy to forget as possible, as per Vox's orders, so the room usually felt fine. With larger personalities like the Vees here, and Valentino's looming height, the room felt much more cramped. 

Velvette was the first to sit, greeting Alastor like an old friend. The man, still half asleep, returned a cordial greeting in kind. 

Valentino stood imposingly, the crossed arms look slightly lessened by the takeout bags he was carrying. "I don't like you," he pointed a free hand accusingly at Alastor, who cocked his head with a confused squint. "You'll never have what Vox and I have, okay?"

"The feeling's mutual," Alastor used a hand to push Valentino's away, rubbing his hand off on the blankets afterwards. 

"Hey!" Velvette shouted, setting down her goods either on the floor beside her or the bedside table she could reach. She almost knocked over an empty glass that stood vigil there, which wouldn't have been good had it been filled with water still. "None of that! We're here as part of the Vees, and we're celebrating my fashion show! Which, by the way," she leaned in conspiratorially towards Alastor, who perked up in kind. "-Was a smashing success. You should've been there, it went off without a hitch! I even got to kill a few reporters who didn't have invitations!" She seemed extremely proud of herself. 

"Sounds like it was lovely," Alastor complimented. 

"It was! Now, Vox why don't you get more seats in here, you can't spend the whole night standing there like a creep." 

Valentino looked just as unhappy with the situation as he was, but Vox kept his grumbling to himself as he turned around to go grab two chairs from the dining room table. 

So despite the tense atmosphere, they all took their seats around Alastor and his sick bed, and handed out the food and dug in. 

Alastor was handed a lovely set of boxes all beautifully wrapped with twine, each one carrying various cuts of meats. At the sight of the first one sitting in a small puddle of its own blood, Alastor practically drooled. Vox has found that he was constantly hungry, even though he'd eaten plenty already.  

Valentino ended up sitting closest to the door in clear defiance of being here, slowly loosening into conversation as he ate loaded quesadillas with at least three different dips. 

Velvette had an array of colourful desserts rather than a proper meal, complete with what looked like every topping, sprinkle and candy that was available to choose from. She led the conversation for the most part, finding clever ways to drag both Alastor and Valentino into neutral ground.  

Vox admired her work as he drowned his anxieties in his overstuffed triple-decker burger, having to lean over the plastic container as grease leaked from it. 

They'd started with remarks with equal amounts of bite towards each other, and as they kept the ball in court with the other, there seemed to be a begrudging tolerance that was building. 

When dinner was nearly through, and Velvette had appropriately told them about every stitch and camera that attended her event, Velvette set aside an unfinished crêpe and grabbed one of her extra bags. As she dug around in it, she said, "Enough's enough, I need to do something about your poor hair." 

Alastor tried to protest, encouraging her to finish eating first.

She insisted, pulling out a few bottles of product and a few brushes. Vox couldn't in a million years understand why she'd need that many different bottles. 

"Can you sit up?" she asked, indicating Alastor's still reclined position. 

"For a short while, yes," Alastor looked curious, squinting as he tried to read the bottles she was setting out on the table. 

"Vox, make yourself useful, would you?"

He huffed, swallowing a mouthful, "I'm not done yet-"

"I don't care! This is a fashion emergency here-"

He sighed, setting his food down and getting to his feet. Placing the container on his chair, he wiped his claws clean on his pants, his outfit still the same from earlier this afternoon so it was already ruined. 

He helped Alastor clear his lap of the containers, all of them cleaned of their contents and even licked dry of every drop of blood. Vox tried not to cringe at the thought of Alastor's disgusting dinner as he set them off to the side. 

Vox pulled back the blanket, revealing Alastor's soft blue pajamas he'd been changed into. "D'you want over or folded in?" he asked.

"Over, if you would. I'm not sure how long this'll take."

"Hey, what-?" Velvette started.

"Got it," Vox cut her off, sliding a hand under Alastor's legs to lift them up so he could slide into their spot on the bed. He sat cross-legged, and set down a leg of Alastor's on either side of his lap, grabbing Alastor's waiting hands to pull him up into a sitting position. Alastor was practically in Vox's lap, and it was only because he's had to do this a handful of times before during their physio sessions that Vox didn’t overreact. 

"Really, Vox? Right in front of me?!" Valentino stood quickly, throwing his food to the ground. 

Vox stuttered, flustered and reminded that this was actually a very compromising position. 

It was Alastor who explained, "My injuries make it difficult for me to sit up on my own. It's pathetic, I know," he tittered. 

"The legs is a bit much, don't you think?" Velvette mused, climbing up onto the bed to weasel her way behind Alastor. 

"Ah, paralysis will do that," he was tense against Vox's arms, who could see his shoulders were hiked up. The man was clearly uncomfortable with Velvette behind him, but wasn't protesting it.

"Paralysis?!" Velvette grabbed his shoulder, leaning around to catch his eye. "Since when? Vox didn’t mention that!"

"Oh?" Alastor gave Vox a questioning raise of a brow, probably marking another tally of errors from him. Vox was sure Alastor could write a whole book about his mistakes. "What an interesting fact to leave out from telling your closest allies, dear." 

The comment felt especially barbed, considering Alastor's earlier chewing out.

"Vox hasn't had any time for us at all lately," Valentino sneered, sitting back down heavily. "Only coming around when he wants something," he tutted. 

"I've been busy…" was his weak excuse. He focused on holding Alastor upright, rubbing a thumb in a circle into his elbow which was probably only comforting himself. 

"Sure," Velvette didn't sound convinced, which he wasn't expecting her to be anyway, but the tone still stung regardless. "But whatever, we already know you're a pathetic piece of shit, so let's get this mop dealt with," Velvette started combing her hands through Alastor's hair. 

Vox was promptly left out of the next course of conversation, left as just the support for his ward as he got his hair done. 

Valentino turned more curious at Velvette's creative process and engaged with her more as time went on. Offering what he knew about the process and throwing the odd compliment Alastor's way as his hair came back to life. 

Alastor was politely pliant under her hands, a soft towel laid around his shoulders as a foam is lathered across his head. They talk the whole time, discussing just about everything under The Pentagram in the sky above. Vox tuned most of it out, boring gossip and stories about various Vee assistants doing dumb things he's already heard or been witness to. 

Vox was eventually snapped back to present by Alastor coughing. Immediately, he could tell it wasn't that bad, the episode already ending moments after it started. 

The towel and bottles of product had all disappeared, and Velvette was now just armed with a comb. Alastor's hair was curly, the coils bouncy and healthy looking. It made his hair appear shorter than it was, but it still framed his features perfectly. 

"Wow," Vox admired how handsome he looked like this. 

"I know!" Velvette was practically preening, a big grin on her face. "He looks amazing," she adjusted a curl, and climbed down off the bed to admire her work from another angle. 

"Thank you…" Alastor voice was weakening, and he was blinking against exhaustion. "I appreciate it. Let me know… if there's anything I can do for you in return…"

Velvette waved him off, "The only thing I want is to do this again sometime. I'm not letting your hair get that bad again."

"That sounds like a deal."

"Alright-" Vox let Alastor back down slowly, guiding him to the comfort of his plush pillows. Disentangling himself from Alastor's legs, Vox climbed out of bed and addressed all his partners, "It's late, and we've all got shit to do in the morning." 

"Ugh, party-pooper," Velvette grumbled, but started gathering her supplies together. 

"He's… not that bad…" Valentino watched Alastor, who seemed moments away from sleep. 

Vox smiled, wrapping a hand around Valentino to pull him in. Valentino didn’t immediately push him away, and his heart sung with pleasure. "I'll make it up to you, Val! You 'n me can do something together soon, I promise." 

Valentino looked at him, giving him a suave grin, "I like the sound of that, papi~"

"C'mon, lovebirds, let's let sleeping beauty be," Velvette waved them on, heading out the door towards the common room. "Vox, you still need to tell us why you conveniently forgot to tell us he was paralyzed." 

Vox was pulled along in Valentino's arms to follow her, and all four hands were becoming explorative. Vox could really tell in that moment everything was forgiven between the two of them, and was excited to spend some one-on-one time with him. Things really had been too stressful lately. 

"Well, on top of the amnesia and the whole constantly bleeding thing, his legs kinda became low priority," he explained as Valentino cornered him onto the couch.

"Eugh, I'm not sticking around if you two just wanna fuck," Velvette quickly headed for the door. "See you around! Vox, don't you dare keep hiding him from us, or I'll make every night a party in here, m'kay?"

Vox hummed an ascent, and focused on how Valentino draped across him.

---

Velvette had a way with bluntness that Vox admired, completely unafraid of other's opinions. She controlled the opinions of others, her experience in social media giving her a special insight into how to be a bystander during messy situations. 

Vox needed that objectivity right now, so he took the elevator down to her floor of the Tower. He could've travelled through the wires, but he appreciated the minute to think over how he'd propose his issue to her. 

Hopefully without making too much of a fool of himself. Both Valentino and Velvette had expressed their displeasure with Alastor being brought here a month and a half ago now, and now Vox's resolve to stand with his decision was wavering. 

The elevator chimed as it opened, and Vox could see that Velvette's studio was organized chaos. There seemed to be more mirrors and vanities than before, the floor littered with discarded costumes and accessories. 

It was the disaster of pre-fashion show preparation. Based on the frantic back-and-forth sprinting of sinners and Velvette's shouting voice in the distance, it was a show for either tonight or tomorrow. 

This was a bad time for Vox to bother her.

He knew this wasn't a good idea.

Just as he was turning around to go back into the elevator, he heard Velvette shout out to him, "Oi, Vox! What the hell are you doing here? I got fifty things to do by yesterday and you're stinking up the place!"

The show was definitely for tonight, then. Vox shrunk into himself, raising his hands, "Vel, I didn't mean to interrupt-"

"Of course not, it's not like you've been ignoring Val 'n I for weeks."

Vox flinched. "Look, Vel, I- well, I-" Oh who was he kidding? Velvette would see right through whatever crafty pitch he had to say. He was doomed. "I did something stupid," he admitted.

Velvette looked up from the model she was sticking with pins, a monumental thing considering how busy she was. Her specialty was multitasking, so having her sole attention was dangerous. 

Velvette shoved the model away, a smirk adorning her face. Despite the mess of her studio, her hair and makeup were perfect, and her outfit was as stunning as ever. "Well, well, well, flat-face does have a brain in there somewhere. Let me guess, you need someone to clean up your mess?"

Vox avoided her piercing gaze, trying to adjust his frazzled state. He realized he wasn't wearing his coat or vest, just his button up that was rolled up to his elbows. It was wrinkled and speckled with damp patches from Alastor's bath.

He'd forgotten to change. 

Mortified, he fumbled with adjusting his open collar. He folded his arms across his chest, feeling bare and vulnerable in front of Velvette. 

This was what he wanted though, wasn't it?

"It's uh…" he glanced about, seeing the different sinners all watching them without shame. 

It was a spectacle to see a Vee so out-of-sorts, and their fear of losing their job or lives wasn't ever enough to dissuade the theory-crafters or insane fans from doing something stupid. He felt exposed, and knew his paranoia was doing most of the talking. These were all sinners under Velvette's employ, and none of them would escape her wrath if they stepped a toe out of line. 

Still, he didn't like being gawked at when he wasn't looking his Sunday-Best.

"Can we speak, privately?" he asked, gesturing over to where he knew she had private change rooms located. 

Velvette dropped her handful of pins onto the nearest table with clear frustration, "Goddamn it, Vee, I really don't have time for this-"

"Just a quick word," he promised, plastering on a smile he wasn't really feeling. 

They relocated to the change rooms, and Velvette huffed and crossed her arms the second Vox locked the door behind them. It was a tiny room, as it had a single purpose, but it was a full room and not a stall so they had privacy from eavesdroppers.  

Not wanting to anger her further this afternoon, he got straight to the point: "It's about Al. He's got amnesia. He… he doesn't remember anything about us." 

Velvette's brows skyrocketed, "That's not what I was expecting."

Vox prepared himself for the other shoe to drop, trying to appear rational but knowing his words were the opposite, "I… might have told him we were partners."

"You… what?"

Vox gave a forced laugh, feeling the embarrassment climb by the second, "I-"

Velvette held up a hand, signaling him to stop, "Oh I heard you, Vee, I just can't fucking believe you." She gestured at him widely, "You just can't get any more pathetic, can you? What in the hell were you thinking?"

"I just-" he glanced around, avoiding Velvette's intense stare. There were spare sequins on the bench against the wall. "Vel, I think you know why…"

She sighed, "So what exactly do you expect me to do? This sounds explicitly like a you problem."

"I guess I just don't know what to do. He really believed me, and I don't know if I can do this. I just wanted him to- to love me, but there's so much going on with all his injuries- I didn't think I'd be doing so much-" he cut himself off.

"Well, what did you expect? You rescued him from getting his ass killed, and it was an angelic wound-"

"I don’t know! Not this- I- He-" he choked, thinking about Alastor's soft fur under his hands. How thin his waist was, and how the water ran down his back. "…I gave him a bath."

There was a long pause, in which Vox tried to keep his focus in the room and not several floors up. 

"Vox, what the fuck?" Velvette almost sounded disgusted.

"What was I supposed to do? He asked for me specifically and-"

"You sick fuck-"

"He asked!"

"You told him you were partners, who do you think he's gonna ask!" She grabbed her head, scrubbing at her face, "Oh my god… I knew you were obsessed with him, but I didn't know you were that much of a creep!" She dragged a hand down her face, her tone becoming exasperated, "Well? What are you gonna do now? You gotta keep up the act."

Vox played with his shirt again, "That's the thing, Vel, I don't know if I can. I almost crashed several times in the last hour-"

She gave a short cackle of a laugh, "Consider it payback for doing something this stupid. Look, you wanted him to be a part of the Vees, I don't know whatever for. We don't need radio when everyone's always on other platforms. The radio's dead, babes," she said it with the pity of telling someone their shoes were outdated by three seasons. 

"We- we can revive radio," Vox was pacing now, feeling like he was just negotiating with himself. There was basically no room to pace, and a purple scarf kept getting caught on his shoe. "There's podcasts, right? Those are basically radio shows-"

Velvette reached over to stop him with a hand to his chest. She pulled it away, flicking it with displeasure as she had met the damp fabric of his shirt. She glared up at him, "I think you're kind of ignoring the part where you told all of Hell that he's dead. You can't put him back on air after that, especially if he has amnesia. He could accidentally tell everyone, and then we would have all of Hell on our doorstep ready to off him themselves. You gotta keep this to yourself, Vox."

He deflated, "I know…"

"Now let me meet him."

Vox looked at her in shock, having expected more insults and lectures. It would have made sense, as he had gone and done something so monumentally idiotic that if it got out, it would have catastrophic effects on their collective reputation. What would Hell think of him and his news channel if they caught wind that Alastor was still alive? They'd question his credibility, and his viewership would tank, and he couldn't have that. 

God, his sentimentality was going to ruin everything he's worked towards. 

Was Alastor's obedience really more important than his influence and control over The Pentagram? 

"…What?" 

Velvette resumed her cross-armed pose, this time cocking her head at him. "I said, lemme meet him. If he's a Vee now, then I think he should meet the other Vees. Right?"

Vox sputtered, trying to wrap his head around it. He didn't think Velvette would be so comfortable with what's going on with Alastor. What happened to her complaints from when he first rescued the deer? "I just- this is unusual, Vel… You don't normally want anything to do with-"

"Yeah, yeah, you and your boy toys is old news," she waved a hand at his attempted rebuttal. "But if he's here to stay, then you can't hoard him all to yourself. You said it yourself, he's our partner now."

Vox opened his mouth to correct her, to say he'd gotten himself in a much deeper hole than that, but she was already opening the door to the change room. She moved quickly, heading towards the elevator and Vox had to jog to catch up. 

"Right now? You- you looked busy-" he glanced around at the mess of a large-scale production.  

"Aha, who cares! This thing will be perfect, it always is." She whipped around to face him, "Are you doubting me?"

He went to reply in the negative, reassuring her that her place in the Vees was well warranted, but she was already yelling orders to this-and-that sinner. She smacked one across the head as she picked up what was apparently the wrong dress, and pulled out her phone to start rapidly texting. It was most likely more orders for her assistants that were probably elsewhere doing equally important things for the show. Vox wondered if it was in-house or if the event was being hosted at one of their collaborator's runways. 

Velvette rejoined Vox, grabbing him by an arm and dragging him back towards the elevator. Together they stepped in, and Vox was quick to input the specific code that would deliver them to his personal floor. 

They ascended in relative silence, sounds plinking from Velvette's phone as she continued to manage her fashion show. 

This was not what Vox had in mind when he came to seek Velvette's advice. He wanted… He didn't know what he wanted. Reassurance that seeking Alastor's approval was normal? A steady hand that would knock him back to his senses? Someone to tell him to just kill the sinner like he should have six weeks ago? Maybe he'd have listened if she'd told him so this time.

Velvette being essentially on board with manipulating Alastor into a pawn they could use was not an outcome he was ready for. 

He could only imagine her response to when she'd learned that Alastor believed that he and Vox were wedded. 

The elevator pinged, and Vox steeled himself for whatever was to come. Alastor and Velvette hadn't really interacted before. Alastor had done his disappearing act before Velvette joined the Vees, and so her knowledge of him was limited to his infamy and their interactions at the one sovereign overlord meeting Vox let Velvette attend. Her impression of him may not be the best, considering how the three Vees had watched things go belly up during the extermination. 

He didn't know how this meeting would go.

"Before we go in, Velvette," he stopped her from exiting the elevator when the doors slid opened. "I want you to give me your phone."

Velvette pulled said device towards one of her shoulders, angling it away from him. "What? Why?" she demanded. 

"Alastor's still injured and vulnerable, and I'm not letting information get out that he's here and alive." He held out a hand, finally brushing his worries away. Getting into the familiar territory of his technological control, he felt his confidence click back into place. 

He could easily jam her signal all he wanted, but he'd feel leagues better if he could prevent her from taking any pictures and risk having her circulate them later. This was his sanctuary, and she would have to obey his rules to enter. 

"Hand it over, or you will not meet him," he told her. 

"Ugh, fine," she sighed like a defiant teen, placing the device heavily in his open palm. 

Vox smirked, tucking it away in his pocket, "Good." 

He led the way into his apartment, immediately scanning the room for anyone. There was no one in sight, so the nurses were probably still with Alastor in his room. Vox and Velvette took the short walk to the spare bedroom, where the nurses were quick to vacate the space at the sight of the two of them. A few tools clattered to the ground in their haste to exit the room. 

"Vox?" Alastor sounded mildly surprised, "I didn't expect you until later, I thought I had scared you off too badly," he reached out with a hand. 

Vox went and took it with practiced ease, his attention instantly zeroed in on Alastor. "You didn't scare me," he objected, reaching up to remove the burlap sack from over his head. "Just needed to do something."

"And what would that be-?" Alastor adjusted quickly, scanning the room. His eyes widened and he stiffened, glancing over towards the door. 

Vox looked back, seeing Velvette with an equal amount of shock written all over her face. 

"Vox," Alastor looked uneasily back to Vox, "Is it alright that she sees me-?"

"Al," Vox gestured enthusiastically to her, "This is Velvette, one of our business partners. She's a part of the Vees." He rubbed a circle into Alastor's hand, turning back to watch his expression as he explained, "She's been in here a few times while you were unconscious. You weren't very well acquainted before you were hurt, but you can trust her. I do."

Alastor digested the information for a moment, and Vox liked to imagine how his brain would catalogue what would be important for later, and what kind of questions his observations would brew. 

He watched as Alastor's smile settled into a friendly one, not so much for camaraderie, but for networking and good impressions. "Well, my dear, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he held out his free hand, offering it for a shake. 

Velvette was shaken from her stillness with the invitation, stepping over to shake it quickly. Her eyes roamed all over him, lingering on the medical devices and his bedraggled appearance, "Oh, babe, what has that man done to you," she said pityingly. 

Alastor grimaced, taking his hand back to try and comb it through his hair, "Ah ha, I hope I don't look as bad as I feel…"

"Did they not do their job right?" Vox immediately started looking him over again, "I swear if-"

"No, dear, it's alright," Alastor interrupted, patting Vox's hand to pacify him. "They did fine, I just feel worn out from earlier."

"Ew, TMI," Velvette made a face.

Alastor flushed, and Vox might've taken a few pictures. "I'm sorry if that sounded salacious," he waved his hand like it would clear their thoughts away. "It's just that the bath I took earlier was a much more physically demanding task than I had assumed it would be."

"This is you all cleaned up?" she boldly stepped even closer to grasp a fistful of his hair to inspect. "Have you just been running it through with water or what?" She offered Alastor a grave look, "You're in a real sorry state right now."

Alastor looked ashamed, and Vox wanted to kick Velvette out. 

"Ah, unfortunately I'm not really prepared for company," Alastor tried again to comb his hair through, forcing Velvette to let go. "Vox didn't tell me he'd be introducing you to me today. I was under the impression my injuries were secret," he glanced at Vox.

"Really?" Velvette gave Vox the same look, "Guess he wanted to keep you all to himself, huh?"

It wasn't really his intention for it to come across that way, but he couldn't argue it now in front of Alastor, so the moment dragged on in quiet contempt. 

"Well," Velvette was the one to break the silence, "I got a big show to put on tonight, so time's short." She went to check her phone, but remembered too late that it was in Vox's possession. She aborted the motion by pointing to Alastor instead, "I'll stop by again after, and you can join me for the after-party, how's that sound?"

"Ah," Alastor's nose did a small twitch Vox recognized as an aborted grimace, and waved vaguely at his bed-bound state, "As enchanting as that sounds, I'm not in a state for much partying." 

She waved a nonchalant hand, "Oh don't worry, darling, it's mostly just us getting our favourite foods and me making the boys do makeover stuff. Nothing too strenuous for your weak ass to handle, right? Wouldn't wanna upset your guard dog here, now would we?" She knocked a fist into Vox's monitor, making him stutter and cry out an objection. 

Alastor hummed, sounding intrigued, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt in that case. Any other guests I should be made aware of?"

"You're in for an exclusive Vees party, Al, so it's just Vox, Valentino, and I. And you too."

"Wait, you got Val to agree?" Vox asked. Valentino had been ignoring him for so long now, and Vox could hardly believe that he was still upset with him over everything. It was becoming troublesome, Vox having to funnel business that he had with Valentino through Velvette as a middle-man. 

He'd thought that Valentino would've gotten over himself by now. 

Velvette shrugged, "He'll be there. One way or another. Now," she addressed Alastor, "What do you want to eat? It can be anything from anywhere, I got people to get it even if it's on the other side of The Pentagram."

Alastor lit up, "Oh! In that case, get me something still bleeding. They've been feeding me nothing but cooked slop, and I'm tired of tasting ash."

"Oh Vox, really?" she whirled on him again, "You're not feeding him either? I know dead goldfish that are better taken care of than this."

"What? I'm not feeding him raw meat, Vel!" 

"That’s normal down here, you dumbfuck! We're not human anymore!" She turned back to Alastor, "Now, don't you worry, babes, I'll get you the juiciest slab of meat I can order."

He actually looked relieved, holding a hand to his chest and tipping his head to her, "Thank you, dear."

"I'll be back sometime tonight, so make sure you get some beauty sleep before then. I'm not having you sleep through the latest gossip you've been missing. C'mon Vox," she yanked on Vox's sleeve, "I need my phone back."

Before he could retrieve it himself, she leaned across the bed and dug into his pockets for it herself, ignoring his sputtering and demands that she stop. Alastor grinned with an aborted chuckle, enjoying the view. 

Phone retrieved, Velvette skipped out of the room with a "Tootles!" leaving Alastor and Vox alone.

---

"Vox," Alastor greeted him enthusiastically as soon as he stepped over the threshold of his room, startling him. 

He glanced at the nurses, who'd stalled in their task of stretching Alastor's dead legs. They seemed just as surprised at the outburst as he was. 

Alastor has been tired by default since he escaped sedation, but today he seemed reinvigorated for some reason. 

"How'd you know I was here?" he asked, confused and a little suspicious. Alastor's head was covered as he demanded, and he hadn't announced his arrival. 

"You have this…" Alastor gestured vaguely, almost hitting a nurse because he couldn't see how close she was, "Electromagnetic field that I can feel." 

"Oh, interesting," he mused. He wasn't surprised that he had a presence, as he could feel every device in the building himself, but he was impressed by the fact that Alastor could also sense it. "Wait, wait, wait," he stalled, thoughts skipping on the implications. Had he been able to do this, this whole time, or was it a recent discovery? Did this mean that Alastor would recover all his powers that has thus far been dormant? "If you can sense my powers, can you use yours?" he asked. 

"My powers?" Alastor hummed, turning his hands over like he was holding something. "I don't know…" 

"Sir," the nurse whispered, trying not to incur Vox's wrath but still needing to speak.

"What," his face flattened. 

"If the patient does have access to his demonic powers, I cannot recommend that they be used at this time. He's still weak, and I can't estimate the effects they'd have on him."

Vox sighed, "Fine." 

It seems like he'd have to investigate it when they weren't around. The prospect of Alastor's powers returning was concerning. No matter how much he missed the damn filter on his voice, he couldn’t ignore the possibility that if that damn sentient shadow reappeared, it could whisk him away to who knows where. He couldn't let that happen. 

"Dear," Alastor cut in, his tone bargaining, "I was hoping to ask for something?"

"Oh? And what would that be?" 

This could be interesting. Alastor hasn't asked for much since he's been pulled from his coma, mostly asking for his questions to be satisfied and pursuing whatever entertainment Vox was able to provide for him. 

"I'd like a bath," he enunciated, "A real one, not a sponge bath or a wipe-down or whatever you'd call it."

Vox blinked. Honestly, he hadn't paid much attention to the exact method the nurses had been cleaning him with since he saved him. He didn't think it mattered how, just that it was done. Vox himself didn’t really bathe per what was considered normal, as while he was able to get wet, he didn't like being submerged in water. He cleaned himself quickly, effectively, and without the twenty some-odd bottles of soaps that Valentino and Velvette liked. 

Vox considered his own appearance very clean and neat, especially considering the meticulous cleaning that his screen required to remain fingerprint- and streak-free. 

"Why?" He'd kill the nurses right that instant if they were doing a poor job.

"Vox," he sounded exasperated now, "It's been over a month. I need a real bath. I feel disgusting, and it's not got anything to do with how clean I actually am or not." 

He didn't fully get it, but if he likened it to when he could still see the faint outline of a stain on one of his suits, he could understand. "Fine," he raised his hands blithely, "You can have a bath. Don't know why you're asking me, though."

Even through the mask, Vox could tell his expression was offended in the way his head tilted back and how his hands splayed, "You've prohibited them from speaking with me, Vox, who else am I going to ask?" 

"Oh, yeah," Vox glanced over the nurses, who've both in the meantime begun cleaning up after themselves. One of them left the room and he heard water running in the bathroom down the hall. "I, uh, didn’t want information getting out that you were hurt," he explained. 

"Yes, but you've tied the leash a touch too tight, my dear. It's very inconvenient."

"Well, that shouldn't be a problem for too much longer," Vox hoped.  

"And that's the other thing I wanted to discuss with you-"

"There's more?"

"If you'll excuse us, sir?" a nurse asked, the preparations nearing complete.

Alastor reached out blindly, "I- I was actually hoping that Vox could do it, if he didn't mind." 

Vox sputtered, the request unexpected, "W-what?! Me? Why?"

"It would just be nice to enjoy it while not having to wear this infernal thing," he reached up to the sack over his head, tugging on it but obediently not taking it off. 

He wanted Vox to give him a bath? The idea was so absurd, Vox doesn't think he's ever even thought about Alastor taking a bath before. The image was so downright scandalous that Vox's face immediately flushed and he started smoking. He'd already been dreaming too much about Alastor's uncovered chest, the sight of his short fur and exposed stomach already enough to fry a wire connection or two. 

But to see more- to even be in charge of cleaning him-

A nurse interrupted his spiral, whispering, "If you would like to, sir?"

He shook his head, forcefully dismissing his thoughts. He glanced Alastor over, the man thin and fragile, "I won't hurt him?"

"You shouldn't. We can walk you through it first?"

Upon his shaky nod, one of the nurses explained the process in simple steps that Vox took down notes of anyway. 

In the background, the other nurse unraveled the bandaging covering Alastor's torso to replace the blood-soaked gauze with a large waterproof patch. Vox, who boasted multiple audio-processors, is able to follow Alastor's comments on how the adhesive is pulling at his fur uncomfortably. 

They advise Vox it might not be a perfect seal due to said fur, warning him against wetting the nearby area too much and not to submerge it whatsoever. 

It was pretty self-explanatory thus far. Get him in the bath, clean him, but don’t wash the big open laceration across his torso, then get him out. 

The nurses disconnect him from his oxygen, oximetre and IV, patching his hand's injection site as well. "Once in there you can take off the tubing and leave it off to the side," one of them instructed. "We'll set him up with new tubes after. He'll probably feel a little lightheaded, but if at any point he feels like he can't breathe, please alert us right away. Let's aim for between ten and twenty minutes."

Once he confirmed he understood thus far, they next taught him how to safely carry him. Vox never knew there was so much to know about picking a person up. 

When Vox slid his arms underneath Alastor, the demon only protested lightly because the bruises across his back were still healing.  

"Remember to have a good grip first, sir," the nurse insisted, "Because you cannot adjust after you've lifted him. You will cause damage if you jostle him too much."

Vox wasn't feeling pressured at all. 

When was the last time he'd had to gently hold something that wasn’t just a ceramic mug or a tiny piece of machinery? Vox was well used to his physical strength by now, having used it over the years to climb his way to the top. He hadn't had to be watchful of his claws in decades. 

Vox lifted Alastor carefully. 

One of the nurses followed after them into the bathroom. They crossed the short hall in only seconds, but still Alastor was slowly gripping Vox's shirt, a subtle tremble betraying his pain. 

Vox sat him down on the counter, the dark marble free of any towels or toiletries. Either he remembered to clean up for once, or the nurses took it upon themselves to clean up. Alastor fell forward into Vox's arms, still struggling to sit on his own, and Vox just held him as he listened to the nurse's final instructions. Her footsteps were quiet as she exited the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. 

Vox adjusted his hold of Alastor, reaching up to pull the bag free from his head. He closed his eyes quickly at the bright bathroom lights, slowly blinking to adjust. 

Vox's face is right in front of him, so he got to watch up close as his pupils changed size. He thoughtfully dimmed his display.

Alastor gave him a grin, "Much better." 

Vox flushed, averting his eyes.

"Hmm, I've been meaning to ask…" Alastor reached up and pulled the nasal cannula free, unwinding it from around his head and tossing it aside. 

"Y-Yeah?"

"Why do I have to keep my face covered?"

"To keep you safe."

"So it's not because you're ashamed of me? Of my skin?"

Vox nearly crashed right then, appalled, "What? Al- No, I'm not ashamed. You're injured, and this is hell. There are literally millions of people out there who would take advantage of this to hurt you," he rushed to explain. "-And besides, I like your fur just fine," he brushed a claw up and down a downy arm, admiring it. 

The gradient from brown to black on his limbs was gradual and Vox thought it suited him. Hundreds of scars adorn his body all over, looking like an animal had tried to eat him. If Alastor thought they were unsightly, it would make sense, but they were ultimately just a sign of survival. Vox wondered when he'd gotten them, but could never gather enough courage to ask.

Alastor didn't deign to answer, inspecting his hands where they gripped Vox's shoulders. 

Vox decided it was time to start that bath. He blushed, and cleared his throat, "D-Did you want to leave your shorts on?"

Alastor was bare save for a pair of sleep shorts, borrowed from Vox's wardrobe. He's been so rarely dressed in a shirt because of the near constant access they needed to his torso. 

Alastor rolled his eyes, "Vox, I haven't had a proper bath in a month. I'd like to be thorough and really feel clean, so, yes, I'd like to take the shorts off."

He had hoped Alastor wouldn't care about them, because taking them off meant Vox having to help him do so, and he's torn between staring like a pervert and averting his eyes like a blushing teen. 

Vox decided to avert his eyes, lifting Alastor by his armpits enough for Alastor to quickly slip his shorts down off his hips. Vox nearly flinched as he reached and helped pull them off the rest of the way, throwing them onto the ground the second he could. 

Alastor grabbed him by his chin, making them hold eye contact, "For being my husband, you're rather flustered right now."

"I- Al, you're naked," he argued weakly.

"Because I desperately need to take a bath. Focus on the bath portion if you must."

"Right. It's just a bath, let's do it."

"Good."

Vox was hesitant to grab him again, hands reaching and flinching back as he tried to hype himself up, because what the fuck do you mean he might touch Alastor's bare ass? He's going to see Alastor completely naked in a shallow bath that would hide absolutely nothing? How is he supposed to do this without completely glitching out?

Alastor grabbed him by the chin again, digging sharp points into his plastic casing to help get his impatience across, "The water is going to get cold, dear."

So Vox took a deep breath, metaphorically putting on his big-boy pants, and he grabbed Alastor. 

"Mind where you put your hands," Alastor teased lightly as they start the transfer.

Vox focused on admiring the shape of Alastor's back under his hand, or the way his claws wrapped all the way around his thigh. Anything to keep him from staring blatantly at his groin. 

It's a pitifully short distance to the bathtub, which was impressive enough that there was plenty of space for Alastor's long legs to lay flat. The bath is hardly full with any water at all, purposely shallow. Beside it on the floor lay a few towels perfectly folded and a small bowl on top of them. 

Vox realized it'll be impossible for him to avoid getting wet without dropping Alastor, so he gave a small sigh of disappointment. As he bent deep with his knees, he set Alastor into the bathtub. His arms were forced to dip into the warm water, and he grimaced, disliking the heat of it. His internal systems generated enough heat on their own, so it's become an unbearable external stimuli for him over time.

Still, he made sure Alastor was comfortably leaned against the back of the tub before he pulled away from him. Alastor sighed contentedly, reaching down to dip his hands in the water and run it through his fingers.

Vox must be making a sour face, because Alastor's smile gained a scheming curve. He flicked a hand in the tub, splashing Vox. 

"Really, Al?" he grabbed his personal towel hanging on the rail on the wall, and wiped his face down. Immediately, there were streaks across his vision, not enough to impede it, but certainly enough to be annoying and eye-catching. 

Alastor just grinned wider, "I'd kill for a laugh right now." 

"Of course you’d find this funny," Vox muttered. 

"Come on, Vox, are you not also a shark?"

Vox blinked, something coiling hard in his gut. Alastor hadn't remembered Vox at all, everything he knew of him had been told to him by the man himself. "A shark? Al, did I tell you that?"

Alastor blinked, staring wide-eyed at him, "Did… Did I just remember something? On my own?"

Vox was shocked, and both intrigued and displeased. He suddenly very viscerally needed Alastor to never remember anything, ever. It would turn their relationship sour like it had years ago, and Vox would break for good if he got laughed in his face a second time.

He could hear it now, 'Gracious, Vox, you couldn't get me to like you even with amnesia! How embarrassing! '

"I-I technically am," he forced out, and vaguely gestured to his sides, "I do have gills, but uh, I'm mostly technological and uh, I don't really like water."

Alastor physically has to hold in his laughter this time, cupping a hand to his grin. His crooked nose flares as he regulated his breath. "Goodness, Vox," his voice almost broke with the withheld chuckles, "You're a walking paradox." 

"Yeah, yeah, very funny," Vox grumbled. "Shut up and bath time already."

"Yes, yes," Alastor took one more bracing inhale, "I'll save the teasing for when I can properly enjoy it. Now," he glanced around the tub, "May I have the soap?" 

Alastor insisted to clean his own bottom half himself, honestly saving Vox from another system crash. Alastor had to lift his own legs by the knees to get to their underside, Vox's hands hovering by the rim of the tub to offer assistance if his own slight weight proved to be too much for himself. 

Alastor's energy started to lag as he carefully used a wash cloth to clean around the patch on his front. 

Vox ended up taking over after that, washing down his arms, taking the time to admire them again. The intimacy was making his heart race, but focusing on the suds and scrubbing helped a lot. 

When he needed Alastor to lean forward so he could reach his back, he offered his arm to lean over. They used one of the spare towels as a soft barrier between Vox's arm and Alastor's wounded chest.  

"The bruising is starting to look better," he told him, trying to fill the silence that's fallen over them. 

Alastor hummed, quiet and exhausted. He became more subdued the longer they sat there, only mumbling occasionally as Vox kept him updated on what he was doing. 

"Just your hair next," he checked in, catching Alastor resting his eyes. "How are you holding up?"

"'Lil woozy," he mumbled, "And the pain's getting worse. Not- not that bad, yet…" he raised a hand to pat Vox's arm, "Continue." 

Washing his hair, Vox supported Alastor's neck and back whenever he could, using the small bowl to scoop up sudsy water to run over his head. Vox didn't own shampoo or conditioner, so he used the same generic soap for his hair, thinking about what kind of scents Alastor might like for his. 

Maybe Velvette could help him pick something out. Alastor's hair was dry and frayed at the ends, which even Vox knew wasn't healthy. 

Alastor was all but asleep as Vox drained the tub and wrapped him with a towel, drying his hair as best as he could. His ears twitched and tried to avoid being handled, but they had to be dried regardless.

As he grabbed the burlap sack, Alastor whined, "Do I have to wear that?"

"Yes? Your wound needs redressing."

"Can't you do it?"

"Why would I? That's what I got the nurses for."

"Does it disgust you? My injury?"

"Pfft, no," Vox chuckled, gesturing to himself, "Al, I'm an overlord in Hell. I've seen every kind of dismemberment, disembowelment, and beheading there is to see. I'm not queasy at the sight of blood-"

They locked eyes, something hurt in Alastor's expression making Vox pause.

"Then why are you avoiding it?"

Vox sighed, mostly just to fill time for him to collect his thoughts. "I'm no medic, Al," he sat on the bathroom tile, meeting Alastor at the same level. "Your condition is… precarious. Would you like me to twist you the wrong way and make you more paralyzed? Maybe just the legs weren't enough for you?" 

He probably was sounding a little hostile, but something was wrong with the direction of the conversation and he couldn’t help it. What was the point of having hired nurses if he just wanted an inexperienced businessman to tend after him instead? Alastor clearly still wasn't right in the head. 

"Vox, they were fine with teaching you how to help earlier, and who knows how long this injury will take to heal? They can't be here for the rest of their afterlives."

Vox only just refrained from telling him how they would be here for the rest of their afterlives, because the second Vox decided so, they'd both be dead. 

"I'm improving slowly, so I figured…" Alastor shrugged. "I figured we would save our pockets if you could do the caring. And maybe burn that stupid sack."

Vox laughed, honestly surprised by the confession. He hadn't had a second thought about his spending habits in years, and here Alastor was concerned about penny-pinching. "Al, you don't need to worry about money at all! Did you forget I own an entire company? I could have an entire private hospital reserved for you, if I wanted."

Alastor didn’t seem impressed by that, "That's not what I want, though. I don’t want to hide in our own home, Vox."

The words struck deep, 'our home.'

It was, even though Alastor knew nothing of the rest of the apartment. Vox had changed his schedule, his habits, and his sacred space to allow for Alastor to recover in it.  

It struck Vox suddenly, how Alastor really did believe they were wed. He fully believed they shared this home, and that's why he wasn't shy about disrobing. For Alastor, as a married pair, they have already shared everything that needs to be shared. Alastor was weak and genuinely needed help, and who else was he to trust than his own husband?

To decide to marry despite the hellscape they lived in, they had agreed to go to any end necessary to protect each other, even if they would become a glaring weakness for other sinners to prey upon. It wouldn't normally affect them, as they were both powerful overlords, but Alastor was crippled and gravely wounded. He couldn't survive on his own. 

Vox had no reply to give him, just collecting Alastor to return him to the care of his nurses. 

He left quickly, ignoring Alastor's concerned voice.

He needed time to think. 

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