Red Silence

[Maree'Anca Marin]

She walked faster, knowing it was only going to get worse, the calm before a blossom of pain would rip across her skin.  Everything now was traumatized, her tolerance moving beyond hurt to numbness.  Fronts of her thighs felt cold, the sensation deceptive.  Her only hope was to get home before it decided to burst from her core.  The mage had merely let it go, reeling it back into herself like a sleeping giant.  The repercussions would be severe, always severe.  Control seemed always just out of her reach.  A fire that burned white hot contained, waiting for the moment someone would open the door and let it explode outward.

 

Footsteps were at a jog, then a fast walk…  then back to a jog, messenger bag bouncing on a numb thigh, jumping down the steps to a subway drop two at a time and catching the door before it closed- instant contact of her arm brushing the door eliciting a grimace.  The world sheared, a ringing echo that set her entire body into delirious vibration.  Senses warped back to reality, train lurching forward.  Fingertips were met a quick glance before they disappeared into the pockets of her coat.  Blackened, looking as if stained from ink after one of her painting projects.

 

…feverish

 

Peach curls slicked to her forehead, she had been an unstoppable force… and now was a ticking bomb.  She knew the sensation, knew what she had to do, almost tearing from the train when it stopped into the empty outdoor depot. Jumping from the platform and hopping over the tracks, footsteps blended into the shadows of the docks, thick nausea turning into a fiery burn in her chest. They quickened, a flat out run through the storage units, giving way to larger warehouses.

 

…fumbling with keys at the door, breath quick, eyes heated… door burst open and she threw the bag, kicking the door closed and making a beeline for the ladder that led to her loft, launching upward and straight to the porcelain tub and crank the cold water on.

 

Skin vibrated, shook… water sluicing into the tub, without pulling off any clothing she lowered herself into it, lip bit, the steely taste of blood.  Cold against sheer heat, lungs were hyperventilating as the pain began to seethe out from her core.  She felt she was burning to death from the inside, sliding down to submerge herself completely to shut out the world in a muffled darkness, the water muting the pained scream in a flurry of bubbles.

 

Huge gulp of air rushed into her lungs, breeching the surface to catch her breath, steam rolling from her skin.. coughs tangled with sobs until calming and riding out the excruciating march of heat over her skin.  She might not lose her fingernails this time.  It began to subside, body sliding back into the depths… eyes opening underwater to watch the dark quiver of ripples on the surface as she suffered, body throbbing. Burned. 

 

It was finally quiet, holding her breath and remaining beneath the surface.

 

Underwater, tears didn’t exist.

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

Finger rubbed in his elongated ear as he tried to stop the violent ringing. Gretchen had given him a tongue-lashing to last a lifetime for waking her up, for being up himself, and for randomly wanting the address of an employee. Even after he sputtered about the woman being injured and him needing to check on her, Gretchen continued to whip him up one side and down the other.

 

Address had taken him near the hospital where he had briefly stopped to rummage in his office, snorting aggressively at those that looked questioningly at his off duty presence. Medical bag had been stuffed with burn meds, creams, bandages and a few things for cleaning and stitching up. Since he hadn't gotten a good look at her injury he wasn’t really sure what he was going to need so it was a grab-bag with a little of everything.

 

The vintage bike rumbled down in between the warehouses, gray eyes scanning for numbers as the brow furled downward.

 

Why did he care?

 

It was a valid question. The "good" doctor was not exactly known for his social graces, nor for being terribly sympathetic to the human condition outside his ER. Perhaps that was what it was. The moment she went from nagging "wife" to injured savior, she somehow became his patient.

 

Where the hell was he?

 

Gas was released to let the beast coast to a stop, glancing behind and then back up the row of warehouses. He hadn't seen a number recently so he wasn’t sure now how close he was. Maybe he should backtrack and count from the last one? Just about to turn the Harley around the open door caught his eye.

 

Long legs half walked the bike to the open door, the faded number confirming it was her place. Engine died as he kicked out the stand only to sit there scowling at the faint light coming from inside. This was a really bad idea. It had to be after ten by now, he would be lucky if he didn’t get shot walking in there.

 

Fingers had unconsciously unbuckled the saddlebag and slid out the antique water canteen. The silver flask was nestled in a leather harness and had not held water in over seven years. Cap twisted off it was nearly on his lips when he paused, her words grinding through his thoughts. Grumbled swears muttered from his lips as he recapped his spare "tank", sliding it back in the saddlebag and instead pulling the medical bag free as he climbed off the bike.

 

Steps into the doorway were timid, knuckles wrapping lightly on the open door.

 

[declan]….hey…..Mar…..Jo?[/declan]

 

He wasn’t sure what the hell to call her, a tickle of memory told him it was Maree, she had said Jo, and Gretchen had just called her the Janitor when he had called and stumbled for a name.

 

[declan]…its… um… its De…..um…..Dr Asher?[/declan]

 

It sounded like he was asking rather than telling. Throat cleared as he stepped further inside, deformed ears twitching as they noted the slosh of water coming from up in the loft.

 

[declan]…I…um… just wanted to check on you……[/declan]

 

Gray eyes were scanning the lower level like he might get jumped at any moment. Frown remained etched as he finally moved further inside. If she was dousing the burns in water it wasn’t going to help much. Medical bag in hand he made his way up the ladder, glancing down to check for "attackers" once more as he again let her know.

 

[declan]…its Asher…. just wanted… to um… check on….[/declan]

 

Words stopped as he got to the top and came face to face with a tub full of water and the woman….drowning?... in it….

 

[declan]..MAREE…[/declan]

 

Bag dropped at his side as hands plunged into the water to rescue the damsel in distress……

[Maree'Anca Marin]

She was stuck, hovering somewhere between this world and another… the time inbetween times.  Darkness and light, hot and cold, sanity and despair.  It was a world that had no noise except for the warped throb of her heartbeat pulsing in her ears, slower…  ever slower until her consciousness even began to wane.  Every so often her face would surface, letting the cool air slide down her features as she breathed and allowed her head to sink again in to the finally calm depths.

 

A walking disaster.  It was the only thing she could find to describe herself.  The more control she tried to exert, the more the forces inside her would beat her to death.  Trying to save those around her, trying to use it for something good.  It was never good… and it never ended well, escalating.  Something was going to have to give. With Ardal’s training she’d found more about her abilities. More information meant more fear.  She simply should not be  someone that should exist, living a daily charade that filled her need to have some purpose.  The cheerful and gentle soul she’d always been slowly giving way to a paranoid, angry weapon.  She could feel it even now, the power-up never completely depleted, it hovered just beyond her skin to mock her sanity.

 

She had seriously thought about hitching a boat, going out into the middle of the ocean and self-destructing.  It might be best for all… even her.

 

Eyes opened slightly, tiny bubbles on her eyelashes catching the wane trickle of light like glitter.  Sound bounced within her watery haven. A voice?  Shit… the door never latched when she closed it unless it was locked… her name warped against her ears filtering into the water.  What the fuck?  Lashes opened further to focus on the shadow looming over the water, body flailing the same time hands plunged into the water to pull her out.

 

The energy hum that hovered just beyond her skin shimmered briefly, fully primed to thrust away from her to push whomever had invaded her silence into a wall.

 

It sputtered out as quickly as the bluish light had formed when she realized who it was… the slosh of water tidal waving out one side of the tub to leave un-amused eyes peering from beneath dripping peach curls.

 

[maree]How the hell did you get in here?! How the hell did you get here?![/maree] came out between heaved breaths.  Going from holding one’s breath underwater and being utterly silent to kill mode had send her skin crawling again, and adrenaline pounding in her ears. Quick glances surveyed the scene. Med bag dropped at his side.

 

He was a doctor.

 

Right.

 

Wet palm pushed hair from her features as she stood up in the rather odd situation, sitting on the side edge of the clawfoot, her clothed legs submerged to her knees.  Hands dangled in-between them, blackened fingertips flicking every few seconds as she caught her breath and tried to figure out what to say, elbows on her thighs and a sullen look in his direction.  Sore nails scratched lightly at the root-like burns on her jaw, emanating from behind her ears.  They were returning to their normal color, slowly… but it was progress.

 

She wasn’t quite sure what to say.

 

[maree]Water helps.[/maree]

 

That was dumb.

 

Sniffle was soft, the awkward silence making the water dripping from her nose incredibly loud as she leaned down to pull off her shoes.  They plopped over the side onto a towel after she poured the water out of them and went after pulling off her coat with a seethe.

 

[maree]Surprise, I’m a powered weirdo.[/maree]

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

The flail of limbs didn’t do anything to reassure him that all was well, water sloshing over his shoes and dark jeans as the eyes came up and glared at him through wet curls. He only let go and fell back when she yelled at him.

 

[maree]How the hell did you get in here?!?…How the hell did you get here?![/maree]

 

Sitting on the floor he blinked at her, faint frown on his brow as he pushed up and moved his leather med bag out of the water on the floor. Calm voice almost irritatingly unemotional.

 

[declan]...the door was wide open…. and I drove here on my bike.[/declan]

 

Gray eyes watched as she moved to sit up on the edge of the tub, gaze falling down to the darkened fingertips, assessing.

 

[maree]Water helps.[/maree]

 

He simply nodded. Keeping burns in cool water was the best first remedy. Bag was brushed off, water dripping from the bottom flung free as he set it on a chair , glancing over his shoulder as her empty her shoes and pulled off her dripping coat. Drowned rat was the thought that came to mind.

 

[maree]Surprise, I’m a powered weirdo.[/maree]

 

Gray eyes blinked at the break in silence, glancing over his shoulder again as he opened the med bag. The shrug held a complete indifference as the gaze slid back into the bag, voice quiet.

 

[declan]… and I have pointed ears…. what's your point?[/declan]

 

If it had been one of the other surgeons at the ER that had followed her, she might have been screwed. Hell, out here…. alone… she might have been in real danger. But Dr Asher wasn’t like the bigoted board of directors at the New York Hospital, he treated altered with the same intensity as the unaltered, much to the chagrin of his coworkers. There was a reason he was an outcast in the political push and pull of the hospital, and truth be told, he was happy with it that way. He was left to his own choices because when it came right down to it, they were not willing to fire him, his skills were rare anymore in the world and twice very "prominent" individuals had needed more than the average butcher could do.

 

So he continued to work in a world where he was despised.

 

The mild medical soap was brought over as he sat on the edge of the tub beside her, plunging his own hands in and washing them thoroughly before gently taking her hands and beginning to wash the burned skin, looking for blisters and signs of skin sloughing off. His eyes never lifted from her hands as the words softly brushed the air.

 

[declan]… this happen every time?[/declan]

[Maree'Anca Marin]

Lungs burned. Internal, it was always internal.  The air went in so cold… felt like frigid winter air.

"...the door was wide open…. and I drove here on my bike."

Blink was taken aback.  Literal.  As a surgeon she supposed you had to be.  Damn door, never latched… but his bike? How the hell did he know where she lived?  Gretchen.  Fuck, she was probably going to get ripped up one side and down the other tomorrow.  She watched him all but shrink away from her water mess with seeming distaste.  Great, he was here out of feeling obligated to pay her back for what she’d done.

 

She didn’t need that kind of help.

 

[maree]Look, you don’t have to…[/maree] was spit out after her mention of being a powered weirdo, brows furling at the glance over his shoulder to her.

"… and I have pointed ears…. what's your point?"

She was a bother, the hushed sigh a defeated one as he took over.  The soap a strange smell, as if the hospital had invaded her space.

 

[maree]..you don’t, really have to…[/maree]

Hands were timid.  Honestly, she was afraid to touch him.  She didn’t know what her skin felt like, she didn’t know what residual effects there might be…  in reality, though she was gaining so much control, she realized she still didn’t know jack shit about what she could do.  Protest began again as he started working, cut off by his question.

"… this happen every time?"

 

She was silent.  He honestly couldn’t help her.  The last time someone had tried to patch her up they ended up dead, not to mention she had been a raging ball of flaming death beforehand, the nerve scars up her spine still attested to that.  This good Samaritan stint from him was going to go nowhere.  Quiet sigh was distracted, looking over her shoulder into the grayish shadows in her loft before settling on the quivering water.

 

[maree]…no…[/maree]

 

It slipped out before she could stop it.

 

[maree]..it’s, it’s unpredictable…[/maree]

 

Forearm from a free hand reached up to clear the water from her eyelashes finally.  She hadn’t realized how needy she was to spill it to someone.

 

[maree]… happens when I try to stifle it, happens when I try to let it out… sometimes it doesn’t..   Sometimes my hands, sometimes my arms…  neck, I don’t know.[/maree]  She shifted her head to one side to let her hair move from her jaw, the root-like red lines fading the further toward her cheeks they had traveled.  Nod then was toward the railing, the thick tubed industrial chic utility railings warped in more places than one.  [maree]…if I stifle it, it gets, dangerous.[/maree]

 

Sniffle was soft, the silence weird.

 

[maree]Careful of my fingerna…[/maree]  Quick seethe brought one hand back within her own control.  [maree]Sometimes they fall off after something like that… it’s, it’s kinda gross.[/maree]

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

She blinked funny at him. Had he said something wrong? The door HAD been open and his bike was still warm outside so… it was all true.

 

He ignored the sigh as he started to look over the wounds and began to take care of the damaged skin.

 

[maree]..you don’t really have to…[/maree]

 

[declan]… you didn’t have to either… you just did….I just…do..[/declan]

 

It was about the best he could do in explaining that "fixing" people was just who he was.

 

[maree]..it's, it's unpredictable..[/maree]

 

He let her rub the moisture from her lashes but then retrieved her hand once more to gently work on, letting her talk. His lack of knowing what to say made him a "good listener".

 

[maree] … happens when I try to stifle it, happens when I try to let it out… sometimes it doesn’t.. Sometimes my hands, sometimes my arms… neck, I don’t know….if I stifle it, it gets, dangerous.[/maree]

 

Grey eyes flicked to the damaged rail she nodded to before looking back to the damaged hands as she sniffled, searching for words and coming up empty. Sam used to get him to open up, he had never been real talkative before he had met her, but Sam somehow teased the words right out of him.

 

[maree]Careful of my fingerna…[/maree]

 

Gently beginning to press on her fingertips he blinked and let go the one hand that she yanked back into her space. A "sorry" was almost on his lips as he thought he had hurt her.

 

[maree]…it's, it's kinda gross.[/maree]

 

Left brow lifted upward before the head shook gently.

 

[declan]..far less gross than pulling maggots out of a rotted belly wound.[/declan]

 

The matter of fact observation was hardly appropriate. His patients were typically unconscious which spared them his lack of social graces. Experienced fingers retrieved her retracted hands, looking over the singed digits, turning them sideways and over before shaking his head.

 

[declan]…won't lose them.[/declan]

 

The medicinal wash was used one more time before he used a sterile cloth from the bag to gently pat the skin dry once more.

 

[declan]….treated lot of altered that nearly blow themselves up because they don’t have a clue what they are doing….. need to use it small…every day.[/declan]

 

He didn’t have a big ability like she did, but he knew a thing or two about people learning to use their powers from how many he had treated who did it wrong.

 

[declan]…too many think they need to do the big stuff to learn or get better. That’s not how you get control. Its using it for tiny nothing things all the time, heat your morning coffee in its cup, melt snow of a window, that sort of thing. The small things every day and not under such intensity builds muscle memory. That’s how you get the control.[/declan]

 

Words were almost under his breath, as though he was talking to himself rather than her as he turned the fingers over again. Gentle fingers went over the couple blisters checking that they were unbroken before reaching into his bag for the Bacitracin. Antibiotic ointment was applied with a touch that could almost not be felt as he ensured the burns were thoroughly covered right up to the unharmed skin.

 

[declan]…don’t break the blisters. That’s how everyone gets infections. They will go down and heal on their own.[/declan]

 

Words held a faint warmth that had been lacking thus far as the gauze was brought out and he began to loosely wrap her hands. Skilled hands never faltered, any effects of the alcohol he had been imbibing not even an hour earlier were not visible in the steady ministrations. Tools of the trade were slid back into the bag before he zipped it closed and set it back on the chair.

 

Hands folded in his lap as he sat beside her facing out of the tub. Silence hung heavily as he let gray orbs flick around the loft of the warehouse, searching for something to say. Without a scalpel or glass in his hand, he wasn’t really sure what to do with them. Fingers entwining and unwinding over and over before he cleared his throat softly.

 

[declan]…. Thanks….. you know…..for back there. Didn’t have to do that.[/declan]

[Maree'Anca Marin]

"..far less gross than pulling maggots out of a rotted belly wound."

The comment snapped her back to a time when his gross fact was her reality.  It had taken so long to heal after the Vatican, hadn’t found shelter right away.  If a mirror had existed during that time, she never would have dared to look.  One of the only blessings was the bright hum of pain that held her in its grip like static for weeks.  It was all encompassing, kept her from focusing on the horrors of what had come before.  Eyes that barely reacted to his comment watched his hands work.

 

[maree]Had that happen… not my stomach though.  Long time ago.  Was hurt pretty bad by some pretty bad people.  Took a while for someone to care enough to take me in.[/maree]

 

There was a small sigh, lips pursing a few times as she gnawed absently at her lower lip.

 

[maree]Was a different time back then, nobody cared and everyone was afraid.[/maree]

 

"…won't lose them… treated lot of altered that nearly blow themselves up because they don’t have a clue what they are doing….. need to use it small…every day."

She felt it.  The prickle up the back of her spine.  Was it annoyance?  Anger?  The liquid color of her eyes that speckled itself in yellows as much as greens cooled to a fogged jade.  Lashes lowered.

"…too many think they need to do the big stuff to learn or get better. That’s not how you get control. Its using it for tiny nothing things all the time, heat your morning coffee in its cup, melt snow of a window, that sort of thing. The small things every day and not under such intensity builds muscle memory. That’s how you get the control."

[maree]I’m not too many.  I’m something else.[/maree]

 

It was the understatement of all understatements, the artistry of her words weaving together to give him the most clear explanation she could think of.

 

[maree]It’s like a comfy sweater.  Doused with water and stretched over a giant body it barely fits. Dried, baggy.  Given to a two year old child to wear.  A fire that started as a raging wildfire before it was just a match.  Nothing with me started small.  Nothing is ever small.  The dam was broken before they ever tried to build it.[/maree]
 

Nose crinkled slightly as he covered up the burns. She wasn’t sure how she was going to change out of wet clothes exactly.

 

"…don’t break the blisters. That’s how everyone gets infections. They will go down and heal on their own."

The odd silence that followed was strangely comforting.  For a twin that had a constant companion and was now alone, just the feel of someone merely inches from her with no obligation to interact was… almost soothing.  It wasn’t until he started to softly wring his fingers that her expression finally relaxed.  She wasn’t aware when she had started pulling up a mask.  It was never in her nature to do so.

"…. Thanks….. you know…..for back there. Didn’t have to do that."

 

[maree]Says the man who walked into a dark warehouse after someone he knew was dangerous,[/maree] it was under her breath, the smooth Czech delicacy of lifted T’s often mistaken for an Irish accent.  Add her hair and light freckled nose to that and people thought they knew everything about her because…  well movies.

 

She reached to absently rub her arm that was closest to him, the odd shiver just now coagulating into her calmed consciousness as she let the silence linger.  Something was brushing against her like two opposite magnetic poles bumping invisibly, rifling the hair on her arms with a power she was only now starting to know existed within her.

 

Curious.

 

He had some sort of mojo, maybe something he knew about, maybe he didn’t.  Had he been offering advice from personal experience?

 

[maree]At least let me feed you, and offer you a drink since that was so rudely interrupted… and get you a towel.[/maree]

 

Before he had a chance to respond, she had stood and stepped out of the tub, slipping slightly but regaining her balance with a nimble snap.  She snatched a thick white fluff off a pile and tossed it at him, flicking a light switch to illuminate the place in the soft warmth of lightbulbs that were too weak to completely seep into all the corners.  She squeezed her hair into her own towel and pressed everything else to make sure she wasn’t running rivers before she carefully made her way down the ladder with tepid fingers and disappeared under the loft overhang.  The angry demon-esque darkness had slid from her, leaving the light graciousness of her artistic curiosity that even bled from her silent demeanor at work.

                        

[maree]…I have the best vodka you’ve ever tasted…[/maree] voice came slightly muffled from her kitchenette corner.  [maree]..but no martini glasses.. or shot glasses… hope a coffee mug is okay.[/maree]

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

He listened as he worked. Too many had bad stories since the end of the world. Too many had seen horrors, himself included.

 

Advice silenced as her own words were clear she was not going to be lumped in with any group he was talking about. He was so bad at small talk. But he also had seen it so often with altered. They learned in a big way they had abilities, something large happened. Then they never went back and mastered the small ignitions which left them a danger to themselves and others.

 

Of course, he had no right to instruct others, having no real ability of his own.

 

In the silence she seemed to relax and somehow that gave him permission to not force himself to talk, though the "thank you" came without thinking.

 

[maree]Says the man who walked into a dark warehouse after someone he knew was dangerous.[/maree]

 

[declan]…not dangerous…. injured…[/declan]

 

Words were soft, accompanied by a faint shrug and rare lift of his lips, corners of gray eyes crinkling slightly into the smile.

[maree]At least let me feed you, and offer you a drink since that was so rudely interrupted… and get you a towel.[/maree]

 

Feed him?....when was the last time he ate? The press of ribs through skin said far too long ago.

 

[declan]…you don’t have to go through any trouble….really…[/declan]

 

Words were soft just before his hand snapped out as she slipped, the warm cupping of her hip to steady her pulling away almost instantly as she found her own balance. He caught the towel tossed his way, wiping down his arms and the bag that had been sitting in a small pool of liquid, silver orbs squinting as the dim light came on. Outside the hospital, he tended to live his life in the dark. The only time he really embraced the light was when he vanished a couple days to go rock climbing.

 

Gray orbs blinked as she "abandoned" him to head down the ladder.

 

[maree]… I have the best vodka you’ve ever tasted….but no martini glasses.. or shot glasses… hope a coffee mug is okay.[/maree]

 

[declan]…huh?..oh… yeah. Sure.[/declan]

 

He was a bit puzzled. Wasn’t she the same woman that had been reprimanding him earlier for drinking too much? Bag in one hand he made his way back down the ladder. He hovered nearby, unsure what to do or say, weight shifting several times as she got mugs for them. Finally he set the bag down and rummaged, pulling the cream and gauze back out and setting it on the counter for her.

 

[declan]… you should change your wraps every day, but only for about three days. Since skin isn't broken, should let it breathe after that, will heal faster.[/declan]

 

After care was normally the job of one of the nurses to explain, the surgeon long gone by then. Left hand let go of the bag, scratching a bit self consciously at the back of his neck. His curls were long. He needed a haircut.

 

[declan]..or you could stop by at the hospital and.. you know… I could do it for you….[/declan]

[Maree'Anca Marin]

"…not dangerous…. injured…"

Soft eyes met the odd shrug and rare smile.  She’d never seen him smile, ever.  More often than not at the hospital it was all business, but she couldn’t agree with the injured part.  Sure, she was injured, but she was more dangerous than hurt.  Again, he protested. He seemed to do that a lot.  Who in their right mind would turn down food and good vodka?

 

Lips parted slightly as she caught her balance…  the touch of his fingers, however brief, released an odd flood that made her catch her breath.  What.  The.  Hell.  Was.  That??  Why hadn’t it happened when he was working in her hands.  Play it cool… figure out what happened later.   Making her way to the kitchen gave her a moment to think, a second to file it away into the other weird occurrences that had been stacking up in the last several weeks.  Especially when cleaning in the ER.
 

His hesitant agreement came as she gracefully moved around in the small fifties retro kitchen.  It was eclectic, and sprinkled with small sketches pinned to the walls.  His hovering was annoying her.  She pulled out a chair, pointing at him to sit. Even though hands were wrapped and delicate, they were still nimble and skilled. She was an artist, she’d always been one.  Her hands were magic… literally and metaphorically.

"… you should change your wraps every day, but only for about three days. Since skin isn't broken, should let it breathe after that, will heal faster."

Unfortunately she didn’t have that luxury….. she had to work tomorrow, wear gloves- it was necessary. 

 

[maree]I’m not going to bite, sit down Dr. Asher.[/maree]

 

"..or you could stop by at the hospital and.. you know… I could do it for you…."

 

[maree]I might ask you to do that, I work there,[/maree] lips pursed, the smile slight.  [maree]I actually have to work tomorrow.  I’m trying to figure out how to make it possible since I have to wear gloves.[/maree]

 

She started something on the stove, then reached to a shelf above the small fridge to pull a half bottle of vodka down.  Two mismatched pottery mugs were filled  halfway, one set on the table.

 

[maree]Liquid courage, best in the world.[/maree]

 

That was the truth, the bottle without a lick of English on it, set down next to his mug. She’d chided him for it earlier… but that was before, well…  this.  Letting the silence linger for a moment, she tipped back her mug, tending to something that smelled insanely good.  She’d made it the day before, but like Thanksgiving dinner, it warmed up nicely.  There wasn’t much left, she wasn’t in the habit of cooking for more than herself, but she couldn’t make this dish without some kind of leftovers.  She’d eaten earlier, so it was strictly for him, except the fruit. She’d share that, but it was mostly for her.

 

A dark plate was pulled down, mismatched but beautifully eclectic silverware.

 

[maree]Svíčková na smetaně, not much of it… but it will fill you up.  Favorite from Prague, think Thanksgiving food.[/maree]

 

Placing it on the table, she turned off the stove and reached into the fridge, taking another snap of the vodka.

 

She leaned on the counter, uncovering a plate of her own food.

 

[maree]If you like it, I’ll share these.  Fruit dumplings… Ovocné knedlíky.  Strawberry.[/maree]

 

Silence fell again as she chewed.

 

[maree]You said it was part of the job…[/maree] she started quietly, taking another bite of the treat she had in her hand.  [maree]You get bothered a lot by people?[/maree]

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

Gray eyes flicked around the kitchen, pausing more on the sketches than the eclectic decorations.

 

[maree]I'm not going to bite, sit down Dr Asher.[/maree]

 

The flinch betrayed her words caught him lost in thought, eyes having fixated on a sketch he found particularly beautiful. Obediently he sat down as the murmur passed his lips like an after-thought.

 

[declan]….DeClan…[/declan]

 

No one called him DeClan. Odd that he told her to do so, a faint furl on his brow as he tried to figure out why he had said that.

 

[maree]…. I work there.[/maree][declan]…I know.[/declan]

 

How else would he have tracked her down at her place. Gretchen's voice still ringing a bit in his sensitive ears.

 

[maree] I actually have to work tomorrow. I’m trying to figure out how to make it possible since I have to wear gloves. [/maree]

 

Head was shaking before she finished, eyes again captured by a sketch as he corrected her quietly.

 

[declan]….told Gretchen to swap shifts when I got your address. You're off tomorrow and day after.[/declan]

 

He was suddenly aware of the mug of vodka in front of himself, eyes seeking the bottle as head tilted clearly unfamiliar with it.

 

[declan]…means you will be on seven days in a row after…..sorry 'bout that.[/declan]

 

He often worked twelve and thirteen days in a row, but he knew that was not normal for most at the hospital. Long skilled fingers reached for the mug, lifting it as gray orbs "read" the label he didn’t recognize, the scent of something beginning to itch at his nostrils.

 

[maree] Svíčková na smetaně, not much of it… but it will fill you up. Favorite from Prague, think Thanksgiving food. [/maree]

 

The faint furl on his brow was hard to read as he looked at the plate of food she placed in front of him. He was uncertain if he would be able to stomach it, the good doctor tended to subsist on a "liquid" diet.

 

[declan]…never been to Prague…[/declan]

 

The murmur wasn’t to anyone in particular. His travels had taken him more into the depths of third world countries than vacation hot spots. He looked up as she offered something else, dumplings…. strawberry? Head shook a bit, it sounded far too healthy for him.

 

[declan]…this is more than enough……thanks.[/declan]

 

Fork was captured and used to push things on the plate a bit while the other hand continued to "feed" himself the vodka. He had to admit, it was damn good vodka.

 

[maree] You said it was part of the job…You get bothered a lot by people. [/maree]

 

Exhale through nostrils might have been called a snort though it lacked much power.

 

[declan]…come because I saved someone they didn’t like….come because I work on altered….come because I worked on someone unaltered and they feel I tainted them…..come because I "am" altered….[/declan]

 

Shrug was faint as he again chose the mug over the fork, lips licked a bit.

 

[declan]…as said… am used to it.[/declan]

[Maree'Anca Marin]

"….DeClan…"

Lips pursed.  It was weird hearing it, as weird as when he’d said her name.  Thought process snapped to a halt when he cut her off.

 

"…I know."

It was her turn to be caught off guard when she was corrected abruptly.  Was he rude?  Arrogant?  She couldn’t quite figure him out.

 

"….told Gretchen to swap shifts when I got your address. You're off tomorrow and day after."

Her mouth opened to protest, she didn’t need favors, because then she would owe them in return.  It wasn’t because she didn’t want to owe someone something, she just wasn’t sure she could deliver when necessary.

"…means you will be on seven days in a row after…..sorry 'bout that."

That was a bit… shitty.  Her job was hard, but it would be a helluva lot harder when she could barely hold the things she needed to do the work.  She caught the furl when she finished warming up the food and laid it out for her.  Her brother had done it to her all the time.  Too busy to eat.  Always too busy to eat.  She was used to knowing what someone needed before they needed it themselves.

"…never been to Prague…"

She somehow knew he was going to refuse her strawberry treats.  Seemed  his style, genuinely surprised he was still there.  More for her, she guessed.

 

[maree]Was born there,[/maree] her eyes followed his to a sketch she had framed on the wall.  [maree]Spent most of my life travelling the world with my…[/maree]

 

She’d stopped herself, taking another bite to play the pause off as the need to eat.

 

[maree]Followed my art interests.  Didn’t stay anywhere for more than a year.  Soaked up anything I could artistically before we moved on.[/maree]

 

The mage inwardly flinched at the dropping of the word “we”, but “we” could have been anyone.  A family, a sister, a friend.  She wasn’t about to give up Bo.

 

[maree]Found myself in places that were sick, in danger of being erased from the world.  Places that nobody seemed to find beauty in.  They were the most beautiful.  Thought if I could learn everything I could, I could share it with the world.[/maree]

 

She missed the travel.  The city was stifling, but it was safer, easier to disappear.  The picture he was looking at was one of her favorites, his answer to her question about why he seemed to always be a target nudged her out of her thoughts.

"…come because I saved someone they didn’t like….come because I work on altered….come because I worked on someone unaltered and they feel I tainted them…..come because I "am" altered….  …as said… am used to it."

 

[maree]I’m sorry.[/maree]

 

She knew… and it was evident in her voice.  It was so familiar.  Her brother, though normal before the world ended met the same anger and hatred even though he worked to save their lives.

 

Gaze floated back to the picture, the trees haunting.

 

[maree]A little girl I met in Somalian village was blind.  She’d been sick before we got there and lost her sight, had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen.  She would sit next to me as I worked and stared at those trees, and they would reflect perfectly in her eyes.  I always wondered if she was remembering what she used to be able to see... what took her sight was so preventable.  They were too suspicious to accept the help we brought.[/maree]

 

Pause was tight, suddenly popping the rest of the strawberry treat into her mouth and silently starting to tidy up the small kitchen.  She shouldn’t have said that.  Rest of her mug was tipped back quickly and she poured herself a bit more.

 

[maree]You need to eat,[/maree] voice was quiet.  [maree]If you aren’t healthy enough to do your work, there’s nobody that can.  I know that.[/maree]

 

That also came out before she stopped it.  Instinctual.  Good god it was instinctual.  Face frowned, glad she was standing with her back to him in front of the sink rinsing pans.  Chest hurt.  She missed her brother desperately at that moment.  She was not meant to be alone in life…  it was utterly crushing her.

 

[maree]Now, nothing is trivial.  The world just turns too fast… if you don’t demand it slow down for you so you can recharge, you’ll lose yourself in it.[/maree]

 

Sigh was quiet, drying the pans as she put them away.  He had every right to tell her to fuck off and go about his business.  She didn’t think he would.  She was probably the one person other than Gretchen in his life that wanted nothing from him.  She didn’t want to be saved, she’d never expected to be saved.  But, those that always took care of others needed someone to watch their back too.

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

Gray orbs were looking inside the mug and missed the parting of lips to protest at his changing her schedule. It had been done without really thinking. He had seen enough of her injury before she had "escaped" to know when he called for her address and Gretchen asked if she would be ok to work tomorrow he simply said "no, change her schedule".

 

Food. It still lingered in front of him like a taunt from the past, fork pushing at things that smelled good but somehow still failed to trigger that gut reaction to stuff his face. Sam was always pushing food at him. There was always one more patient to see, one more test to run, one more sick child that needed to be looked at right away. If she didn’t stuff a sandwich in his mouth, he wouldn’t eat half the time.

 

Born in Prague. It caught his attention enough to look up from the plate again. Travelled with who? Husband? Gretchen never mentioned she was married. He travelled with Sam…… had travelled.

 

The correcting thought drawing a faint furl to the normally unexpressive brow.

 

[maree]Followed my art interests….[/maree][declan]….medical needs…[/declan]

 

The soft interruption was like a phantom memory being given voice. The silvery flecks in gray orbs catching the light as he glanced up to her with a faint apology for interrupting in the ghost of a smile.

 

[declan]…I used to travel where the medical need was….[/declan]

 

Quiet explanation seemed to still apologize before setting the fork down like he had just taken a bite to reach for the mug once more. Her words seemed to mimic his own experience. Sam and him had also travelled to where the land and people were sick, and yet they found great beauty in those locations.

 

[maree]I'm sorry.[/maree]

 

Blink was foggy as her apology for his being hunted made no sense to him. The faint puzzling down of brows betraying as much.

 

[declan]…not your fault.[/declan]

 

Shrug again held an accepting indifference to his situation.

 

[declan]… just is what it is…[/declan]

 

Somalia. The eyes were distant again, staring in the mug that had somehow found itself empty. They had started in Somalia. Lived there two years before moving on.

 

[maree]…..They were too suspicious to accept the help we brought.[/maree]

 

[declan]…need to live there, become one of their village. Takes months and months of getting nowhere…. infinite patience.[/declan]

 

Quiet words were clearly nostalgic. He had been lacking in patience in Somalia. It was his first location and he was frustrated that they wouldn’t let him help, shunning the needles and medicines. Sam had been the one that calmed him and patiently lived their life, learning how to mush roots to make food, learning how they cleaned their clothes, how they valued relatives. It was Sam that picked up words and began to communicate in blends of words and crazy hand gestures that often brought smiles. He had taken longer to understand people came before the medicine. It was in Somalia that he had learned his quiet and infinite patience.

 

[maree]You need to eat. If you arent healthy enough to do your work, theres nobody that can. I know that.[/maree]

 

Sam always said that. Once he found his groove, he would work day in and out, forgetting to sleep and eat as he seemed determined to make every person in the god forsaken country healthy single handedly. She would steal his stethoscope out of his hands and stick a plate in its place, sitting right on top of his makeshift laboratory desk and notes.

 

[maree]…. If you don’t demand it slow down for you so you can recharge, you'll lose yourself in it.[/maree]

 

[declan]….I go away for a week every few months….[/declan]

 

He didn’t know why he said it. Few people even noticed his absence and no one, not even Gretchen, knew where he went for the week. It was his escape down to the mountains. They had been avid rock climbers, it was the one thing he hung onto other than the Harley, only now, he did it without the climbing gear. If Gretchen knew where he was going and what he was doing, she would likely ensure he never had time again to get away. Gretchen would be worried he was living with a death wish….. maybe he was.

 

Light shrug lifted his shoulders as the eyes left the plate to look at her once more, noticing a damp peach curl that clung along the apple of her cheek, unconsciously tracing the way even wet it curved, attempting to curl.

 

[declan]…don’t take any work with me.[/declan]

[Maree'Anca Marin]

Lashes fluttered the same moment his brow went down.  There was something… it went in waves.  First the swizzle over her skin in butterfly kisses that buzzed like electricity.  Now, something she couldn’t place, darkness. A deep hole.

 

 "….medical needs…"

Lashes lowered.  So strange. 

 
"…I used to travel where the medical need was…."

So did they.

 

She caught the fake out, lips pressing together and about to call him on his bullshit until something else came out entirely.

 

[maree]So did we.[/maree]

 

It was a bit wistful, bit back as she dried her cooking silverware and put it away.  It was too easy to spill things to him.  She wasn’t quite sure why.  Everyone else she knew couldn’t keep their damn traps shut, they let her know about anything and everything even if she wasn’t a darn bit interested. Like the good heart she was, she listened.  He was listening, he really was.  It was… strange. As if he could see straight through her.  Knew things she didn’t want to divulge… almost judging.

"…not your fault."

[maree]I know it’s not my fault.[/maree]

 

Counters were being wiped down… gently of course as to not mess up his handiwork.

"… just is what it is…"

It was her turn for brows to slide downward.  Once upon a time she would have grabbed him, shaken him silly and asked what the hell was the matter with him. Nobody deserved to be treated like crap.  It was too dangerous now.  She had to lay low, people were looking for her AND her brother.

 

[maree]Nobody deserves to be made to feel like that. I’m not apologizing for assholes treating you the way they do, I’m sorry you have to live with it.[/maree]

 

She wanted to say she’d been there, she had definitely been there.  There was that hole again… a darkness that she suddenly felt she had to fill with “happy thoughts”.  Damn Peter Pan.  Damn mage secrets she didn’t quite understand either.  She knew she was empathetic, she just didn’t know how it worked yet.  Was she picking up from him, she wasn’t sure, snapping out of it when he started to discuss somewhere he’d apparently also been.

"…need to live there, become one of their village. Takes months and months of getting nowhere…. infinite patience."

Nod was knowing.

 

[maree] Usually we had almost a year.  Had to for what had to be accomplished.  We came at the worst times, when there was no more hope even from the doctors.[/maree]

 

At that moment, she clearly reeled back into herself.  She couldn’t talk about it. For all she knew he was one of the worst, someone that could sell her out in a second to someone that would torture her… but she didn’t truly believe that.  Still, if she started just blabbing off to anyone that was the moment the world would come crashing down.  She needed to stop treating him like she knew him so well.. she didn’t.  It was too dangerous to know anybody too well.

 

"….I go away for a week every few months…."

[maree]I know.[/maree]

 

She swirled the last of her drink in the mug as she stared at it.

 

[maree]You’re harder to clean up after because you do what’s necessary other than think about keeping the floors clean.  I notice when you’re gone.[/maree]

 

Smirk was slight as she finished what was in her mug and leaned a hip on the counter, arms crossing to watch her bare toes a moment, just now noticing the blue sparkly polish was half chipped off as she wiggled her toes.

 

"…don’t take any work with me."

 

[maree]Good.  You deserve more time than you take.  I unfortunately cannot leave. The city is safer for me.  Easy to get lost in a crowd.  Stifling sometimes, but…[/maree]

 

She shrugged, looking across the large loft with its industrial charm, the lower floor past the kitchen where the car bays used to be.  It was now where her eclectic lived, comfortable with its layered throw rugs and soft cushion couches.  Art in various states of inspiration and completion.

 

[maree]Not much I can do about it.[/maree]

 

She was quiet a moment, a quirk of her lip betraying a little regret at allowing him to stay.  She’d said too much.

 

[maree]So… I don’t have to tell you not to… talk too much about me do I?[/maree]

 

Brows were slightly hopeful, but more concerned.

 

[maree]There’s a reason I prefer to be called Jo.[/maree]

 

Fingers clutched the mug, crossed arms releasing a bit to allow her hand to rub the back of her neck.

 

[maree]What we did… before everything… happened. Not many people still can.[/maree]  she stopped herself, chewing her lower lip tightly.  [maree]Just… prefer to stay under the radar.  So… um.[/maree]

 

She wanted him to keep his trap shut?

[DeClan Asher Quinn]

Gray eyes fluttered up to her as she mentioned that "we" had also moved where the medical need was. So her husband was a doctor too? Wasn’t his business. Though he caught himself wondering if that was why she worked now at a hospital.

 

Lashes dipped to watch her wipe down the counters, he was normally crawling out of his skin around people, with her it was almost… hypnotically calm.

 

[maree]…..I'm sorry you have to live with it.[/maree]

 

Head shook faintly again as his thumb rubbed on the side of the mug, it bothered her but he didn’t understand why.

 

[declan]…still shouldn’t feel the need to…. I went numb to it long ago.[/declan]

 

He had to. In the beginning the taunts, the aggressions, the accusations….. they triggered hostile, violent PTSD episodes of rage. Hands meant to heal had turned to destruction. Now… he was apathetic to a dangerous point.

 

One day, they would kill him.

 

Brow furled thoughtfully as she spoke of no more hope in these places of desolate health care. He knew what that was like. He had seen it, held death in his hands so often as he had tried to comfort those that could not be saved in their last moments.

 

Sam had been better at it.

 

Furl tightened with the memory, shudder through the shoulders working to throw off the ghosts before confessing he went away every few months.

 

[maree]I know.[/maree]

 

Brow quirked a bit... stalked?

 

[maree]You're harder to clean up after because you do what's necessary other than think about keeping the floors clean. I notice when you're gone.[/maree]

 

Blink held an innocent surprise. It was not something he had ever considered. He didn’t wait for incompetent people to read his needs. Bloody gauzes that he needed gone often hit the floor when the nurse was not there in time with the tray, drainage tubes often suffering the same fate. Also since he didn’t use the high tech tools because of his warped ability, the suction was often old fashion, turkey baste style which meant it was dispensed to the floor rather than into a machine. Faint puckered expression was sheepish as she leaned against the counter.

 

[maree]….I unfortunately cannot leave. The city is safer for me. Easy to get lost in a crowd. Stifling sometimes, but….[/maree]

 

[declan]…no one where I go…just nature…wilderness...[/declan]

 

He was unsure why he said it. He never talked about where he went, even when Gretchen badgered him. She wanted to know so she could track him down if he didn’t come back. It was the mother hen in her wanting to be sure he was safe. The Board wanted to know so he could be located and pulled back in. He kept silent to both.

 

[maree] So… I don’t have to tell you not to… talk too much about me do I? There’s a reason I prefer to be called Jo. What we did… before everything… happened. Not many people still can. Just… prefer to stay under the radar. So… um. [/maree]

 

Silver grays were wide staring at her before a sound escaped his lips that no one ever heard. A bubble of laughter that was cut off quickly in his chest as if to deny it had ever happened. Head shook as he looked into the mug, quirk of his lips still holding the ghost of what had emerged.

 

[declan]…. you ever see me talk to anyone except for ER instructions?[/declan]

 

The good doctor was tolerated at the hospital, even the women attracted to him didn’t dare talk to him directly. Gretchen tried to talk to him but he kept even that conversation to hospital business. And outside of the hospital….well…the conversation she walked into with Ethan at the martini bar was about the extent of his external contact.

 

He had truly become a hermit. Head shook again as the gaze flicked to her.

 

[declan]….there is no one to tell…..trust me.[/declan]