Work Text:
A hot gash up on the thigh: not infected but certainly angry. It’d clotted fine and the protocol for non-threatening wounds was routine: clean (gently), line with antibacterial gel (avoid the inside if deep), and seal with a bacta patch or wrap with gauze. The most difficult part was redressing him in at least his sweatpants: balancing that leaden body at the tailbone like praying an eggshell to remain unbroken.
Removing his hand out from beneath the other’s back, Sev drew the blankets up over his comrade and hoped it was enough to keep him warm. He’d already taped over the window frame some weeks back in preparation for the frost but now peeled off his shirt and socks to stuff the sill. Their creaky cabin hideout was drafty and in need of new roofing along the gutter but it was more than enough: well lit, somewhat furnished, cozy where it mattered. Somewhere to hide away at all.
Sev redressed into warmer clothes and was busy tucking his pant cuffs into his socks, creating one, mostly uniform silhouette of cotton and wool, when Fixer came to with a vicious spasm in the legs.
It’d only been minutes, Sev noted frustratedly, though not at his vod- despite holding him down at the shoulders when he tried to get up.
"You got thrown off balance when your leg got hit and the exhaustion did you in. The wound’s already taken care of and the others are handling… everything else," he said, gesturing vaguely to imply record filing, supply stocking, ensuring there'd be food and clean clothes and blankets for the night.
"You don't need to do anything but rest." Fixer pushed up against Sev’s hands but not enough to actually throw him off. He never let himself rest or be healed where the others could see: up before anyone could catch him waking, distant before anyone could see him wounded. Walled in before anyone could slip between.
"Besides, even if I let you go, your muscles aren't gonna have it." Said with finality, with the assumed understanding that Fixer knew better than to move, especially when Sev had his back turned- whether to draw his knees up over the thrumming in his leg or to follow the hand that’d laid its fingers beneath his chin, been so delicate on his throat amidst the scolding.
He was back before the other could properly miss the touch, moving Fixer into a sitting position with one arm steady behind his back, flushed even to the spine, the opposite hand free to rest a thumb on his bottom lip. “Open up.”
Fixer hesitated, not necessarily because he wouldn’t take the meds or didn’t want them, his body boiling, awareness recentered from the leg out: just… not ready- too sudden- no time to decide for himself.
"The others alright?"
"Yeah. No injuries. 'Sides we've got enough supplies, heat, time… We always do."
His eyes remained glued to the soft edge of his vision, fixated on where Sev had lined the draft with his clothes: considering problems that could arise, responsibilities the others would pick up the slack for- done just as well albeit not as particularly. He looked at Sev now, demeanor patient and unjudging- the kind of gentility reserved only for his vode.
Fixer opened his mouth.
"Attaboy," Sev praised before dropping the pills onto Fixer’s tongue, making him drink at least a cupful of water with it: not the usual dry swallow Sev and Scorch’d flash their tongues after, the chalk aftertaste and wax texture Sev knew Fixer could feel ghosting the front of his mouth for hours.
He pushed Fixer’s bangs back then, one hand free to touch. Improperly long, especially pretty on someone that stringent. He’d cut the rest short- kept the sides and back to regulation, as if that’d help his case were anyone to know. They weren’t even long enough to truly be tucked behind the ear, merely pressed like flowers to his forehead under his helm, strands wormed like wet stems bent together, or curled thick in that soft period after a shower.
Still- purposeful. Tacitly, tactfully prideful in a way that made Sev’s chest cavity ache through the bones.
His daydreaming was cut short by the other itching sheepishly at his forearm with his index and middle fingers: wanting to be noticed without being too forward about it. Then, already deciding against any further subtlety, he shifted to make room under the covers.
Sev scooted off the edge of the bed, hooking one foot under the comforter, still fingering at the other’s hairline to push the fringe back. The pills had some sedative as with most meds, most bacta- anything not simply anti-inflammatory or counteracted with egregious levels of caffeine, but it was too early for them to be taking effect.
Fixer slung an arm over Sev's waist and Sev moved entirely under the covers now to return the motion.
"That's my boy," Sev cooed, warmth settled beneath the gravel in his voice, pulling Fixer upwards so he could curl in properly. "Get some sleep, huh?" he added, Fixer already with his eyes closed, given blessing to do so.
It was enough for him to nuzzle in like that. Imply he wanted someone to play with his hair and kiss his forehead and keep watch for him. And keep watch Sev would, trailing the uncalloused fingers of his nondominant hand down Fixer’s spine beneath the blanket, the other hand scritching through the buzzed sections of his hair.