Zephyr
You follow Vai to the basin, not picking up a cloth - feels too intimate - but ready to spring into action as directed. The way she trails off has you feeling uneasy; gently you reach up to cup her cheek and press a quick kiss to her forehead, a promise that you're here. "Ya saved him, Vai. He's gonna be fine." Is this true? Your uneducated ass has no idea, but it feels like something she needs to hear.
Again you follow, lingering behind her as she sits down, your hand rubbing gently over her back. That your patient (and her adoptee, apparently, which is not the best news you've ever gotten) can speak seems like a pretty good sign. That he's thanking you? "Sure ya didn' hit yer head?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. Sometime in the future you will bring this up and never put it back down; for now you're mature enough to keep from rubbing his nose in the fact that you probably saved his life.
"So, Sparky. How's it feel t'be a fuckin' hero?" Reaching for the bottle of whiskey, you extend it toward the invalid on the bed. He needs it more than you.
Again you follow, lingering behind her as she sits down, your hand rubbing gently over her back. That your patient (and her adoptee, apparently, which is not the best news you've ever gotten) can speak seems like a pretty good sign. That he's thanking you? "Sure ya didn' hit yer head?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. Sometime in the future you will bring this up and never put it back down; for now you're mature enough to keep from rubbing his nose in the fact that you probably saved his life.
"So, Sparky. How's it feel t'be a fuckin' hero?" Reaching for the bottle of whiskey, you extend it toward the invalid on the bed. He needs it more than you.
never trust a survivor until you find out what he did to stay alive
