Chapter Text
The room was still in semi-darkness, Rip’s body clock pushed him to wakefulness at this early hour; a habit ingrained in him since his teenage years. He could almost taste the stillness of the ranch, in the sparking of the day he knew this would soon change. Despite the two weeks that had passed since the attack on the Yellowstone ranch, he could still sense the nervousness in the air. Even while the occupants of the bunkhouse slept he could feel the palpable disquiet that hung in around his colleagues. He could sense it in the haunted look of Kayce or in the absence of Tate buzzing around the stables. John Dutton’s hospitalisation had rocked the entire ranch right to the core, including his bedmate.
He cast his eyes down to Beth, curled close to his chest. He knew she was running herself ragged, spending all day by her comatose father’s bedside brazenly disregarding the medical advise to take things easy while she too recuperated. Goddamn she was stubborn. He could see dark circles under the canopy of her bangs, she looked as tired as he felt. Her small body was draped over his midriff, swaddled in the tangle of blankets, obscuring the raw injuries on her back. He felt guilty as she shifted slightly as if she was reading his thoughts, an incoherent moan melted into a plaintive question, checking if it was morning already. Rip whispered a sibilant shush into his semi-conscious fiancée’s ear. “Back to sleep, Darlin’”. He hoped this would encourage her to eke out some additional rest, he would still his racing heart by watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. He placed one hand in her hair lightly massaging her scalp. Beth was alive, Beth would be ok, they would face these problems together
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The morning light streamed in the bedroom window, bathing its warm glow on the room’s occupants. Rip was holding her, cradling her tenderly; miraculously avoiding her many injuries; as she had snuggled herself into the crook of his arm. Dimly she can feel the soft pressure of his fingers stroking her head. In the twilight between sleeping and waking she forced her mind to focus, grappling to maintain her tenuous hold on wakefulness. She had a long day ahead of her, but it was difficult to marshal her thoughts on anything other than the fiery pain of her back. It still hurts like hell and it took a few detached seconds to realise the low whimpering noise is actually spilling unbidden from her own mouth. She can sense Rip’s tension beneath her. Her tired body continued to betray her, the agony of burnt back demanding rest that she couldn’t afford to give it.
Beth hands ghosted their way up to Rip’s face, seeing the concern writ large in his expressive eyes. She exhaled a throwaway remark that she was fine, knowing that the words were hollow to both of them. She straddled him briefly, allowing him an unobstructed view of her unconvincing smile, feeling like she could melt into him when he gently returned her good morning kiss, his large hands cupping her face. The tenderness was welcome, but she knew it had to be short-lived, she wanted to be at the hospital to visit her father before morning rounds, which meant hitting the road soon.
“Hmmm, Darlin’ not so fast, your father can wait. I need to check on your back”. He holds her gaze watching the turmoil play across her tired face, he assumed she was weighing up the consequences of defying his request, she hardly looked as if she had the energy to argue with him but he wasn’t foolish enough to underestimate her bravado. She acquiesced only when he reaches for her small hand, placing it on his stomach where the rough cauterisation scar meets the tight musculature of his torso. The evidence of the frantic patch-up job after the Beck-goon had shot him in the gut. It reminds Beth how anxious she was to tend to Rips wounds, in what seems like a lifetime ago, a different nightmare that they had both overcome. She cast her fingers gently down the strong chest in front of her, reading the scars as if they were braille record to Rip’s bravery and loyalty to her family, it solidified her decision that it would be churlish of her to decline his kind offer.
She allows the strong hands to settle her onto her stomach, resting the non-injured side of her face on the pillow. She watches Rip as he gathers the medical supplies. Carefully, he peels the layers of gauzy bandages back exposing the red and tender skin to the fulness of sunlight. He fights the tight knot of anger that rages inside him, as he looks at the raw mangled mess of Beth’s back. He is intimately familiar with burn marks from being at the giving and receiving end of the Dutton Brand, but his fiancée’s back is like one giant burn. He can see striations of shrapnel marks, criss-crossing her back in raised scar-tissue lines interrupting the red-raw welts that overpopulated previously flawless skin.
He reached for the ointment, working it across her tensed shoulder muscles. He listened to her breathing judging by her hitched breath when he encountered particularly tender wounds. He tried to ignore how white her knuckles had become as they twisted themselves into the pillow. He could see her eyes were glassy but stubbornly she remained stoically still, accepting the treatment without complaint. Rip continued his work until the burnt skin was slathered in the cool ointment. He dispensed with the disposable gloves, before grabbing the small pill bottle and a glass of water for his last piece of medical ministration.
She felt vulnerable; but safe; lying in the bed. She marshalled her thoughts as well as her breath. She knew what was going to happen next, so she dragged herself upright, closing her eyes briefly to stop her vision spinning. She watched Rip’s ambling progress back to her bedside, his expression an inscrutable poker face in no way confirming her fear that he had seen her momentary weakness.
The bed dipped to accommodate his weight, he sat next to her, she could tell he had caught himself from throwing a casual arm to envelop her in a hug, they both knew her reserves of self-control wouldn’t be able to manage even the smallest of jostling. Instead his beefy hand met her thigh, “Please Beth, take the medicine”, presenting her with the glass of water first. She fired him knowing scowl, damn him and his dammed politeness, she longed for the little pills to take the edge off the stabbing pain shooting darts along her back; but not at the expense of her wits. She knew the heavy-duty medicine dulled her senses making everything fuzzy. She needed to drive to the hospital, talk the doctors and the administrators. “Rip, I’ll take ‘em once I’m back, I promise”, she felt a flare of pride as she managed to keep her tone even, as she cast the proffered glass back to him.
Rip stroked her hair again, looking at her in his own frustratingly know-it-all way. “Darlin’, you’ll be wanting a stiff drink after after a day in the hospital, I’ll drive you.. come on the Doc’ said pain pills and antibiotics once a day until the bangage comes off for good”. She sullenly takes the medicine, dry swallowing the chalky tablets with a grimace. Her mind churns at the realisation that this was the first time she could ever recall her soulmate ever taking a day off, a small part of her relaxes knowing that Rip would ferry her to the hospital.
She grabbed her clothes, pulling on her jeans before she steeled herself for the additional layer of pressure on her back. She pushes her head through her t-shirt, momentarily surprised that the drugs have kicked in so readily. This morning her top is only a discomfort, she almost wants to cry in relief at this fact. Rip crouches ready with her shoes and a puppy-dog expression, goddamn him she couldn’t even ridicule him for his Prince-fucking-Charming impression, she is silently thankful for his consideration.
“Stop looking so smug, I only put up with you as you are so easy on the eyes”.