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“Ohh, wow-eee there, buddy!” Rick whistles in faux sympathy as if really taken aback, like he’s truly disheartened by that. He has to remind himself to keep it in check, to bite back a smile. He’s beyond amused, though. He can’t help it. “That thing is sharp, you know? You should be more careful!”
He says this, but what good would it do now?
It would do no good at all, that’s for sure, Trager muses, thin lips curled in barely contained mirt. Into something along the lines of oh poor you. He crumps himself further into the cushion, casually leaning back into his chair. It creaks from his weight as he observes.
Absorbs even.
And Jeremy, - oh, good pal Jeremy - he's only hiss and inspects the damage with a deep frown. He has a large gash on his index finger, and there is a lot of red now. It drips everywhere. On his clothes and on the surface of the furniture. A stained letter opener is left forgotten on the edge of Jeremy’s table. And Rick’s eyes can’t help, but slick back to it.
If he’s lucky, he might pocket it later.
“Damn it.” the younger man stressed out, cringing at the sight. The blood tickles down his hand. It eats at a small spot on his white sleeve. And Jeremy is never this messy. Or seen in such a state.
Rick drinks it all in. Every drop.
Jeremy rarely acts clumsy. He can’t be touched by anything heavier, than a drop of dust, it seems. Even in the dim light of Asylum his suit always looks out of place. Too black, too well-ironed, too expensive. Jeremy, himself, always looks like he belongs someplace else.
Somewhere, safer, perhaps.
Somewhere, where Trager can make sure, that he won’t end up slashing his veins by accident.
He won’t mind looking after his buddy, assisting his needs, if asked. He's a good friend. And good friends look after one another.
Out of the two of them, Rihard tends to know best.
“Gimme that.”
“What?”
Ah yes, and Rick also tends to forget, that with Jeremy, you just have to specify shit over and over. Blaire never gets hints.
Trager makes a grabby motion over the table. “Gimme, Jer.”
“Give you what?” Jeremy asks carefully, awkwardly holding his hand away from himself, like it’s infectected or dirty. And it is dirty, Rick supposes.
“The number of your credit card.” Jeremy opens his mouth, annoyed and ready to tell him to go and suck it up, but Trager stops him with a chuckle and lazy flick of his bony wrist. “Your hand, Jer. Gimme your hand.”
This is a very simple request. But another question doesn’t make itself wait. Jeremy peers at him with a light frown, and deadpans, “What for?”
Rick sights and gets up in one quick jerk, his long legs carrying him toward his friend, who eyed him with an open suspicion now. And instead of withdrawing his hand away, Jeremy suddenly crumbles it closer to his body, holding the bleeding finger with his free hand. Like he's trying to protect it from any more bestowed harm.
The blood seeps through, and Rick watches it with blunt interest. Jeremy never bleeded in front of him before. It’s odd to imagine him doing it now, - even if he does it, for real, he bleeds - or even getting affected by anything. He’s always so out of reach, when it comes to harm. He’s off limits.
Yet, he's got a cut, and it seemed nasty. Seemed to be deep.
Rick wants to see just how deep, exactly.
“Do you have a plaster?” Jeremy says, raising one brow up. If they were playing a guessing game, Jer was doing a piss poor job. He never got intentions, that were somehow different from his own. But aahh, a plaster, he said.
“Mmm, let’s see — let’s see.” Rick replies with a quirk of his own brows. Though, his mimic is way more staged. It’s less serious, more playful. Casual. “I just might have it…yeeeah. I think so.”
“You might or you don’t have it?”
“Might.”
Jeremy scoffs, but it's a fiable response, even for him.
Now, he was just being difficult, honestly.
“I’m just trying to help you, Jeremy.” Rick offers, and he almost feels a shudder, that passes down Blaire’s spine. “You're really bad with that stuff. You just won’t know what to do.”
“It’s not a mortal wound, Rick. It should stop bleeding soon.” Jeremy says, sturbonly.
But it doesn’t.
One might assume, that cuts are just a five minutes deal, but it's not true. There are many factors, that influence it and Rick knows his iatric. He had his nose buried inside the medical journals, since he was a twenty-something college student.
“Doesn’t look like it to me.” Rick draws out, watching Jeremy from his height, towering over him. Intuitively feeling, that he has an upper hand.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not stopping.” Trager points out, and he’s satisfied with uncertainty, that blooms inside his friend’s cold blue eyes. He has him hooked already. “I mean, look! It’s just overflowing now!”
He’s exaggerating, of course. But it’s more blood, than Jeremy might assume there should be. Unlike Rick, Jeremy knows nothing about traumas, or about minor bleeding. He knows jackshit. And it’s just great. Just the best.
Rick likes it, when Jeremy doesn’t know things, that he does. It creates a nice distance between what Jeremy might do and what he most likely would have done. Trager finds it easy to slide inside that empty slot, and take control of the situation.
His good ole Jer isn’t the brightest guy, when it comes to anything, aside from making money. He needs someone like Rick to guide him, step by step.
“It would stop soon.” Jeremy insists, but he doesn’t sound all that sure, anymore. “It can’t be that bad.”
Rick nods, and presses his tongue into the inner side of his cheek with an audible chomp. Momentally, Jeremy grows uncomfortable. Blaire doesn’t have any trouble with maintaining eye contact, but Rick learned, that he has a special ability to unnerve him sometimes. Just like he does now.
He clearly unnerves Jer-Jer now.
“Come on, buddy. Don’t be difficult. Let Doctor Trager take care of you.” he says this with a cheeky smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, but it doesn't have to. It would have been weird, if it did. “I’ll deal with your boo-boos for you.”
“You’re not a Doctor.” Jeremy corrects him, but it’s more out of habit, than actual annoyance, Rick is certain. “Besides…” he glances at his hand, it’s all clammy and dense. Shining with blood. Cut was deep, huh. “How hard can it be to treat a cut?”
“Harder, than you think.”
“You gotta be joking.”
“I’m not.” it’s all about sounding like you mean it, in the end. Rick had built a good half of his career on this. He would know. “It’s no papercut, buddy.”
“I didn’t cut my finger off.”
“True, but it might get worse.”
“How much worse?” Jeremy still doubts him. And it’s fair. Anyone with common sense would.
“Gee, buddy.” Rick tilts his head to the side, making a grim face. “Wait, a couple more hours and you’ll find out for yourself.”
He lies.
And it works.
Because it always does.
It takes Jeremy a few more seconds to decide, that he can let Rick take care of this. In the end, he trusts him with those things so easily. And there is something very warming, somewhat touching about how far Jeremy would depend on him and his knowledge.
This seems small to someone else, but Jeremy has some noticeable list of trust issues. Probably, a deeply-rooted thing from his childhood. A little something to accompany his daddy’s issues on top of it.
“Well?”
Jeremy makes a face and stands up too, slowly closing in, and finally letting Rick take a proper look at his injured hand. The second, his skin touches Jeremy’s, it gets slick with running blood. It’s warm and wet, and it all comes out of Blaire.
“It’s not all that bad, right?” Jeremy asks, and tries to sound bored, but instead, he sounds mildly distressed. “I have a board meeting tomorrow. It would be embarrassing to shake hands with bandages on.”
Rick hums, flipping Jeremy’s hand up in order to see the edges of torn skin. It’s straight cut, nothing can be seen past the flow of blood, but there are two sides of damaged meat inside. And oh boy. There is so much inside, that the surface lacks. All the tender fabrics, all in open. Half-blooming.
Jeremy rambles about whatever, but he can’t pay attention to that. The noise grows more distant, but the blood, it’s there. Bright and –
He can’t help himself, but not to press his nail right into the cut, making Jeremy jump, crying out in shock. Reacting to the pang of pain, that Rick dishes out on him.
This is barely anything too kinky, but it makes his stomach drop. His dick slightly twiches inside his pants.
“What the hell, Trager?” Jeremy hiss and shivers. Rick’s nail is still partly buried between the cut ends. To try and yank his hand away would be stupid. And while Jeremy is kind of stupid, he’s not that stupid. “W-what are you doing?”
“I’m checking how deep the cut is.” Trager tells him, and looks at blood flooding around his fingernail. He can make it worse, so-so easily. Can make flesh tear like paper. “It’s kinda deep, yeah.”
“Cut the crap!”
“Pff.” he chuckles, eyes still directed on the injury. “Nice one, Jer.”
“I’m not – ssstop damnit!” Jeremy cringes, and grabs Rick’s wrist. “It hurts. I’m serious, Rick.”
Rick doesn’t have to do what Jeremy asks him to. He can do something else, he can just make it bleed even more. He can and yet, he has to stop himself. This would do nothing, but spoil what he had earned, while being patient to Jeremy’s constant whining, and bearing his annoying bossyness. He can’t just fuck this up for something this minor.
He had far-going plans, and spooking Jeremy out of his skin wasn’t part of it.
Everything in its due time.
“Yeah, alright. I’m stopping.” Rick says, and takes a hold of Jeremy’s hand. Trapping it within his. “Speaking of which, I do have plaster and a first aid kit at my office. I just remembered about that.”
“Oh yeah?” Jeremy gives him a dirty look, but doesn’t try to fight his grip. Some brain was hidden there after all. Jer always plays nice with those, who are stronger, than him.
And Rick is stronger.
Older, meaner and way smarter too.
“Yups.” Rick nods, and lightly tugs Jeremy’s hand, beckoning him to follow. “Luckily for you, I’m always prepared.”
So prepared, that he kind of suspected, that it might happen.
Rick had this one idea pestering him for a bit now. He just never got time to actually commit to it.
That’s unil today.
This morning, he had sharpened Jer’s letter opener without telling him. He didn’t hope for it to work out so well, but look at him go! Look at it working out even better, than he thought it might.
Sharp ideas for sharp minds, his father said, and Rick always took his words to a heart.
He whistles as he guides Jeremy toward his office. Blaire’s red-glistering hand is clapped in his. With Rick’s clever fingers wrapped around it, like the legs of a spider. Keeping it still. And keeping it on the verge of wondering, whatever Rick might want to keep it safe or not.
Whatever, his professional prescription on this might be.
The Doctor always knows best, after all.