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When Callum burst into the room in a panic, he was surprised to find the lights off and Rayla curled up into a ball on top of his bed. She didn’t look up when the flung-open door hit the wall behind it.
”Rayla!” He said breathlessly, relieved. He’d worried he’d find her bleeding or crying or shouting. He was quiet, though, not wanting to startle her. She laid facing the door and he could see from the hall light that the open door let in that her eyes were closed. He hurried to her and knelt by the bed, taking her hand to gently wake her. As he did, he winced at the scrapes already scabbed over on her arm.
She blinked her eyes open as he laid tiny kisses down the length of her finger. “Hey.” She tried to laugh but winced instead.
”Hey.” He kissed her lips. “Soren told me.”
”Ugh, I’m fine, Callum.” She sucked in a ragged breath as she leaned up. “I just landed wrong.” Doubting her, he let her pull against his weight to drag herself up to sit. He scanned her body, seeing the scrapes on her arm and a tear on one side of her pants revealing another larger bleeding gash.
“Rayla...look at you.” He stood up only to immediately sit next to her on the bed and gently touched near one of the shallow scrapes. He flinched away when she winced at his gentle assessment of the damage on her arm. “You’re not fine.”
”Callum, it’s not a big deal,” she shrugged, but winced and groaned again in the process instead of smiling as she’d intended, undermining her point. “Nothing’s broken, at least? So, I’m good.” He shook his head, remaining stoic despite her attempts to set him at ease.
”Will at least let me help clean you up?” He gestured down the the wound on her leg.
”Fine...but, I promise, it looks worse than it is.” He stood and offered her a hand to get up. She groaned as she did.
”Sit, sit, sit,” he said trying to guide her back down with warm hands on her shoulders, hearing the pain in her voice.
“No, no, I’m up. Might as well stay up,” she exhaled loudly as she straightened up all the way. His eyebrows were furrowed across his forehead in worry.
”What hurts?“ His hands remained on her shoulders as he asked.
She hesitated.
”...my side,” she finally said, placing a hand on top of her armor where it hurt worst. “I think I’m just bruised.” His face turned somehow even more serious, almost angry. “What? Are you going to beat up the tree for me?” She teased, but he was unmoved.
”Let me see,” he said authoritatively, unwilling to let her downplay her obvious injuries. She reached down to untuck the ties that held the protective fabric in place. She started on one side and he pulled at the knots on the other, undoing the ties completely. He touched her sleeves that were attached to her blade holsters, unsure of how to proceed. “How do these come off?”
“There are buttons,” she lifted her left arm and started to undo the one under her uninjured arm, only wincing at little at reaching across her body. When she raised her arm to undo the other one, she swore.
“Here,” he insisted, copying the pattern of buttons she’d undone on the other side. He lifted the holster off her shoulders and deposited it on the nightstand, before doing the same with her vest. He stepped away slightly to gently lift the hem of her shirt, revealing a large red mark that was already purpling in some places spanning the right side of her stomach, up to her waist. “Oh, Rayla,” he said, a little horrified.
“You just wanted to take off my clothes, didn’t you?” She tried to joke again, but couldn’t help cursing when he brushed his fingers against a particularly colorful spot.
“Sorry,” he frowned, still ignoring her attempts at humor, letting her shirt fall back down to cover the injury. “Let’s get these cuts figured out, and then we’ll get you more comfortable, ok? Come here.” He crossed to the bathroom, a hand on her back, and watched her as they walked. Her gait only seemed to be thrown off by the pain in her side, which relieved a little of his worry about the cut on her leg at least. He gestured to the chair in the corner as they crossed the threshold of the room, then turned to the cabinet to get bandages and cloths. “Can you sit?” He asked as he filled a shallow basin with water.
”Yes,” she hissed as she lowered herself slowly down into the chair. He turned around wide-eyed to see why she sounded so pained, and frowned when he realized how much the simple task had hurt.
”Rayla, please...I could have helped you.” He loudly inhaled and exhaled. “Please...let me take care of you,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of her and taking her hands in his. She shifted her eyes to the side.
“Sorry...I’m just...embarrassed,” she admitted.
He brought her hands to his lips. “I know. It’s okay. Kind of cute, even. Frustrating! But cute,” he shrugged, finally smiling a little. “Now, let me see this,” he said.
He pulled gently on her right hand so she’d extend her arm down to him and peeled off the bracer around her wrist. He wiped at the shallow wounds around her elbow, finding that the blood had made them look angrier than they really were.
”But really, I’ve had way worse before, you know,” she said defiantly, not quite ready to abandon her bravado, wincing a little as he went over the scrapes again, this time with alcohol.
”It’s not a competition, sweetheart,” he said more gently than she’d been prepared for. Her tough façade faded a little more as she blinked at his words. He took the other bracer off of her, turning the arm over looking for any other blood, then kissed the scrapes he’d already cleaned. He looked down to examine the cut on her thigh. Pulling at the ripped edges of dark fabric, stained even darker by the blood, he asked, “Would it be too weird if you took these off?”
She rolled her eyes at the question, but she managed to let a smirk crawl across her lips. “See? You are just trying to get me naked,” she jested, managing a small smile, which he returned. Undeterred and undistracted, he helped her pull off her shoes. He left sliding her pants down her hips to her, but pulled them the rest of the way off for her so she wouldn’t need to bend down. They both examined the flesh of her right thigh, tinted red by the blood from the wound. He looked further down her leg to see the front of her knee where an older bruise was yellowing. It occurred to him that it was probably a good thing that he didn’t usually know about every little bump and bruise under her clothes. He laid a kiss on the yellowed mark, then dipped the cloth in water again and dabbed and wiped around the cut, avoiding any part that seemed like it might be painful.
“See? It’s just a scrape. It just bled a lot, is all.” She shrugged again, using just one shoulder to avoid the pain of using her right side. She sucked in another breath as he touched the cloth to the wound itself.
”I’m sorry,” he said, squeezing her hand with his free one. “But there’s dirt and stuff in it.” She closed her eyes as he continued to dab across the wound, brushing away pieces of dried blood and dirt, somewhat indistinguishable from each other. “Talk to me about what happened,” he said, knowing that now that he was done with the washcloth, the alcohol on her wound would be even more unpleasant.
”Everything was all wet from the storm last night, so I slipped. Shit!” She exclaimed when he pressed the disinfectant to one end of her wound. “Normally I’d catch myself with my blades...ow!...but they’d gotten stuck in the tree. It’s my own fault...ugh! My blades wouldn’t have stuck like that if they were sharper.”
Having the cleaned length of her entire wound, he reached for the roll of bandages and started to wind the thin gauze around her leg, fingers gentle against her skin as he knotted the wrap. “There,” he said when he was done. He looked up to see her eyes a little watery. “Hey...” He reached up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.
”Just stings little,” she sniffed, cheeks pink, avoiding his gaze out of intensified embarrassment.
“Let me get your pajamas for you.” He stood and went back into the bedroom. “What exactly did you fall on anyway?” He called as he exited the small room.
”A big root,” she responded. “That’s what bruised me up. I don’t really remember getting the cuts, but I guess there must’ve been some rocks or something down there too.”
”Wait, you don’t remember?” He reappeared, looking concerned again, yellow pajamas in hand. “You didn’t hit your head, did you?”
“No, no, I didn’t,” she put her hands up defensively, not wanting cause him unnecessary worry. “It’s just that I got the wind knocked out of me, so I couldn’t think about much else.”
“Can you lift your arms?” He asked, pulling at the hem of her shirt again.
“Not easily,” she winced, raising them about halfway experimentally.
”Here, keep this one down,” he said, gently tapping her right arm. She wiggled her left arm out of the shirt as he lifted the fabric. Then, he guided the shirt over her head and down the other arm. He sat back down to kneel in front of her again. Gently, he pushed her knees to one side so he could scoot in to get a closer look at the huge bruise, even more purple than before. “Is there anything I can do for you here? You don’t think you’ve broken a rib or anything, do you?”
“It doesn’t hurt to breathe, so I’m not too worried. Thanks though.” She placed her hand on top of his from where it rested on her knee and leaned forward to touch her forehead to his concerned brow. She angled her lips towards his.
”Uhhh,” he started, breaking off their brief kiss. His cheeks were pink for the first time since starting to nurse her wounds. “Let’s get your pajamas on first.” She smirked, as he nervously scrambled to help her with her shirt.
She gingerly slid her right arm into the sleeve first and he pulled the shirt up onto her carefully, looping it over her head for her. The collar caught on a horn. “Oops,” he said, gently unhooking it. She managed the rest, eyes amused when they emerged from the yellow fabric. He handed her the pants.
“How do you want to do this?” He asked.
“The worst part is going to be standing back up again,” she said, wincing a little as she bent over to pull the pants up around her knees. He stood and offered his hands for her to steady herself on. She put her hands in his, and pulled herself up, still cursing the whole way as she finished dressing.
“Ok,” she sighed in relief, looking up to meet his still-concerned expression. “Quit your worrying. Tomorrow morning will suck but I’ll be good as new in a day or two.” She gave another one shouldered shrug and smiled, squeezing the hands she still held.
”Come rest,” he said, only slightly reassured. He moved one hand to her back and turned to escort her. When he turned toward her bed she pulled the other way towards his.
”Oh, no,” she began facetiously, “I’m so hurt that I can’t possibly sleep by myself...” She smiled at her own fake dramatics as she approached the edge of the bed. He couldn’t help but smile too.
“We wouldn’t want to wake Ez if you need something in the middle of the night...” He continued. He swiped the pillows off her bed and propped them up against his headboard. he offered his hands again to Rayla as she lowered herself down to the mattress. Her face still contorted in pain while she arranged herself against the many pillows, making sure her good side would be the one next to him.
“Do you want food or water or anything?” He asked, sitting down opposite of her on the bed, facing her, scanning for any unspoken needs.
“Callum, I’m good,” she smiled at his concern now, but seeing him so distressed was starting to bother her now that she was reasonably comfortable. “Your job is done. I’m taken care of. Now, come sit with me.” He took her outstretched hand and scooted closer to her, leaning in to touch his forehead against her temple.
“Promise you’ll tell me if it gets worse?” He whispered.
“Promise,” she confirmed. “But I’m sure I’m going to need help anyway, so you can see for yourself.” They separated, and she winked.
”Rayla...I can’t believe I’m saying this, but...don’t. It makes me feel ill seeing you hurt. Not romantic.” He frowned and squeezed their still-clasped hands.
”Oh,” she said. “Well, that doesn’t mean you won’t kiss me, though, right? I feel fine, now.” She twirled a finger in the fabric of his scarf.
”Mmm, I don’t know...do your lips hurt?” He asked, and immediately hit himself in the forehead.
”Yeah, not so smooth,” she chuckled, tugging more insistently on his scarf now. “Just come here and kiss me, dummy.”