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“It’ll help.” She said it in that sing-song voice that almost made him say no. Still, she was standing there looking hopeful and expectant, hand cream in her grasp.
Stephen highly doubted anything would help at this point, but Christine seemed hell-bent on it so he offered up one mangled hand to her. He gave her credit, she didn’t flinch. She never did. Instead, Christine cradled it in both of hers and slowly began to massage each joint and muscle with such care and precision he was having a difficult time maintaining his composure. She was careful and focused in her attentions, clearly knowing the internal work that had gone into putting his hands back together.
It had been an age since anyone had touched him and Stephen told himself that that was the cause of all the pounding in his chest and racing in his veins. Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that he was still very much in love with her. He wasn’t nearly brave enough to tell her yet, but it was what it was. He’d come to accept his feelings and the deep regrets that came with them. He’d done her so wrong in so many ways and yet here she was offering him up comfort.
She dug her thumb in against the fatty part of his palm, working at a spot he hadn’t even known was sore until she started working her fingertips into the aches and pains. Stephen used his hands constantly and even with every enhancement the spells he used gave him, he still hurt. It had become background noise in his life at this point. Was he breathing? Was his heart beating? Then his hands hurt.
Her fingers worked their way up the inside of Stephen’s forearm, gently coming back down over his wrist bone. “Ok,” She asked him softly as she repeated the gesture.
“Yes,” he got out without making an utter ass of himself. It was all he could say and knowing her, she knew he was a little bit of a mess over this already.
“Switch.” She changed left hand for right hand and repeated her motions, focusing on spots that had been rebuilt, focusing on strained spots without him even having to tell her. She knew, her fingers sought out every sore spot on Stephen’s hands seemingly on instinct. She dug her thumb into the muscle of his forearm, working a knot loose with some effort. He let out a soft, compliant sound when it finally let loose, Christine smiling at him in that way that said: I told you so. With others he might have gotten mad at that but not with her… never with her.
Christine took her time working out knots and around mended bone carefully until, for the first time since his accident, he wasn’t focused on his hands and their constant ache. He focused instead on the fact that she was done working on his hand but was still gently holding it. She gave him a soft, knowing little smile before letting go, capping the hand cream and starting up a conversation about the weather. It was absurd, obscene almost, but he let her get away with it because she was her and he was head over heels, stupid in love with this woman. Well, that and given the facts of his new career choice and what that implied for his life outside the Sanctum. No, he’d have to settle for impromptu hand massages, and really that wasn’t so bad after all.