Work Text:
kaz didn’t like to be in anyone’s debt. he thought of it as dangerous in a profession such as his. it’s too much leverage for someone to have against him.
he was committed to paying back the debt, immediately if not sooner.
•••
you don’t understand why he couldn’t have just said thank you and walked away.
you know, like a normal person.
•••
you just didn’t like bullies, that’s all. and when you saw him cornered seven on one.. well it was unfortunate for them you happened to be a great shot now wasn’t it.
pekka rollins could be as angry about it as he liked, it’s not like he’d be able to find out who did it when you’d killed all of his little henchmen before they could escape.
you liked kaz. you frequented the crow club enough at least to know you preferred dealing with this crime boss rather than pekka.
honestly was it really so hard for him to thank you?
instead he brushed off the hand you offered to help him up, snatching up his crow handled cane as well. “i had it handled.”
you feel rage build in your chest at that. you had just saved his life! he was getting pummeled by those thugs and you had saved him!
you do your best to remain calm. “it didn’t seem that way from the other end of the alley. you’re welcome for the help, then.”
“like i said, i had it handled.”
you spin on your heel back towards him, ready to tell him off for making an ass of himself, but then you see how visibly injured he is.
there is blood seeping through his dark clothes, making the fabric shiny in the lamplight. one of his hands is pressed firmly against his sternum, applying pressure to what must be the source of all that blood, and the other hand has a death grip on his cane.
your tone changes. “saints above, you’re really injured.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re going to bleed out if you don’t stitch that up soon, i don’t think that’s fine.”
he doesn’t respond to that, just shifts his weight so that more is supported by his cane.
“the least you can do after i’ve saved your ass is not die on me! we are cleaning that,” you gesture vaguely to his midriff injuries, “and you are going to stop being impossible for one minute and accept help!”
you give him no space to argue, crowding him down another street towards your small apartment.
•••
“give me your gloves then.”
he doesn’t move.
“kaz brekker i swear to every saint if you don’t work with me here. i’m aging years as we speak, now hand them over. it’s apparent you’re touch averse and i don’t need you passing out on me if my skin touches yours before i even get to stitching you up.”
you hold out your hands expectantly.
he looks cautious, the first genuine emotion you think you’ve seen from him so far, aside from the pain he’s in. his touch aversion must not be brought up often, then. but you were a medic, and had seen and heard enough things to know the signs and how to work around it for medical care.
the gloves are placed into your hands gingerly. you nod to him in thanks, slipping them on quickly as you set about cleaning your needle and scissors with alcohol.
“why are you doing this.”
you had fallen into the rhythm of cleaning, almost forgetting kaz was seated diagonally from you.
you feel like you can only answer honestly. “because i’m not a good person, but i want to be. and if i can help, then i want to.”
he doesn’t have any response to what you said, instead sitting in silence as you ready yourself to stitch him up.
•••
he finds his gloves sitting on his desk the next morning, folded neatly next to a note.
thanks for letting me borrow these, but i don’t think they’re to my taste so you can have them back.
x
kaz can’t help a short huff of a laugh as he reads it. nevermind how you had managed to sneak past even inej to leave these here. he found he rather liked your snarkiness.
he found himself hoping he would cross paths with you again.