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"You are such an idiot sometimes. You know that?"
Fate sneered, tapping a finger against the alcohol bottle in her grasp. She could hear Russell and his annoyed huff in response through the slightly ajar door. Fabric rustled as the doctor fought with his waistcoat and the tiny buttons that held it closed. She had offered to help - he was quick to deny it vehemently.
"What part of lettin' a concussed and confused man keep ahold of his dagger made you think that somethin' like this would not happen?" Fate asked, taking a sip of her drink. "It was practically destiny that he would-"
"Okay! Okay, I get it!" Russell retorted through clenched teeth. She could not hold back her snort; the grin on her face was purely sharp teeth.
She leaned back on the sofa, resting her head against the wall behind her and looking towards the ceiling. Caleb slept by her feet, curled up in a tight ball yet taking up an absurd amount of floor space. It was ironic, really, how different their situation had turned from the usual pattern.
Usually, she was the one getting patched up by the snarky doctor as she complained about his painful stitches.
When she had stepped through the office doors early in the morning, she had not expected to see Russell trying to help another man to carry some drunkard towards the exit. The bandages around his head were shoddily tied up as if done in a hurry due to-
Oh, Russell had blood pooling down his side.
The unknown man on the other side of the drunkard (who had introduced himself first as Liam and then demanded a rematch for some drinking competition they had had a few years prior) had offered to escort the wasted individual to the jailhouse in return for Fate guarding the back of his partner.
She tried not to read too far into that.
What did intrigue her about his comment, however, was his turn of phrase. While learning under the other Promise Seekers, Argus had taught her to pay attention to the littlest of details. Even if they seemed unimportant, they could become vital later on when looking back on interactions.
Words have power, and that power could have consequences if they did not keep it in line.
Stupid Argus and his stupid logic actually being helpful.
It had become a bit of a trend that when someone made a motion or intent to touch Russell's back, he would turn away or move out of reach. It was like second nature to him. Sometimes Holloway placed a friendly hand between the doctor's shoulders or against his lower back - he was a physically affectionate man after all.
Russell would still flinch or go still, though. The pair had known each other for as long as Blindhollow had existed; there was no way he was not used to the mayor's physical acts of praise. It couldn't be that. Fate had seen the guilt on Holloway's face as he quickly removed his hand.
Gentle touches anywhere else seemed to be fine, but anywhere near his back, and Russell gave multiple non-verbal signals that it was not okay with him.
Fate sighed and mentally berated herself for not catching on sooner. She was usually better at noticing stuff like this. Russell was not rejecting her help specifically. He did not want anyone - not even her - going anywhere near his back. With an injury to his side, which required him to remove his waistcoat and shirt, his back would become exposed to others.
She couldn't help but ponder if something horrible had happened to the doctor - leaving him with deep scars.
Both mentally and physically.
Fate sighed, setting her drink on the end table and standing up. She stretched her arms over her head with a muffled groan; Caleb opened one sleepy eye to watch her movement. The sound of glass jars moving around the room behind her halted, and the sloshing sound of water started to pour at an unsteady rate.
She paced the length of the empty waiting room; four long strides, turn, four long strides, turn again.
Markus had gone to Onyxsprings on some trip to fetch more supplies, leaving the office home to only the two of them. No more sounds had yet to come out of Russell in the other room since his snappish response. Should she check on him?
No, Russell said he could handle it alone. It was fine.
Russell had to have handled his own bandages at one point or another, especially considering his job. Any doctor in the field knew how to take care of a knife wound. Russell was the best of the best, after all. His intelligence was something to be feared, and his hands no longer shook with the tremors of a novice. Fate had begun to trust him. Trust him despite his human status.
He would be fine. He would--
Suddenly, Fate hears a loud clang against the floor of the other room. Fate paused, hearing a frantic curse followed by soft sounds of strangled warbles and sobs.
Fate quickly made her way to the room, stopping short of the door, still partially ajar as she left it.
"Russ?"
“S-Stop!” Russell’s panicked voice was a frantic cry; his sobs nestled roughly between loud breaths.
“I’m... I'm not comin' in. I just wanna know if ya' alright?” Fate did not intend for her voice to slip into a questioning tone. It was surprising even to her.
Why did she care so much?
There was no response, just more shaky breaths and a quiet, smothered sob or two.
“Russ. I’m not comin' in, I promise. I just... Are you alright? It sounded like you dropped somethin'.”
Another gasp. This one was wet with grief.
“I… I can’t! I can't do this!"
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. Deep breaths, okay?” Fate had heard the tells of panic from Russell enough times to recognise the signs by now. Some of his fear stemmed from her own arrogance. His cocky façade always fell around her, and sometimes she pushed against his true self too hard. “You’re safe. You’re with me, remember? No one would even dare to hurt you while I'm here.”
“It’s too much!” Another choked sob. “I can’t- I can’t do it! It looks t-too much like- like…” Russell's voice trailed off, his breathing quickening once more.
Caleb whined behind her, a pitiful sight where he lay curled. Fate knew he would not move without commands - which Russell could not give in his current state.
She needed to fix this, but fuck she was bad at this kind of shit.
Before she could open her mouth to contemplate calming the doctor just beyond the doorway, he took a deep, sniffled breath.
"F-Fay?"
“Russ?” She answered, her hand grabbing the door handle.
“Can… Can you come in?” Russell asks quietly.
Fate took a deep breath, steeling herself against the anxiety pooling in her gut, before pushing open the door. She slowly entered the room, quickly noticing Russell sitting on the floor. He had positioned the bed between himself and the door. A poor attempt at protection from...
Protection from her.
His abandoned waistcoat and shirt lay neatly on the bed; a wad of bloody gauze and shears were left messily on the ground by his feet. Russell's knees drew up to his chest, and his hands circled them in a poor attempt at a hug. Stains of blood wet his fingertips. Fate could just make out the wound on his side from where he was facing her - still dripping blood onto the floorboards.
Russell looked up at her, his eyes glossy with tears. After another shaky breath, he whimpered, “I can’t do it. I thought I could, but- but I can’t. The blood, the- the scars… It hurts! I can’t do it.”
Russell squeezed his eyes shut, and tears fell down his freckled face. He feels ashamed, Fate thought. A doctor who could not perform surgery on himself. Not much of a surprise with only one hand to work with.
She took a few slow steps away from the door.
Fate made sure to leave the door half open. An escape route for either of them. Both too jumpy and too cautious for their own good. She lowered herself to one knee, keeping her hands far from him. Russell's glassy eyes tracked her with unease, a small, hoarse chirp leaving his throat.
“There’s no shame in admittin' that you need help, Russ. Gods know you've taught me that.”
“T-That’s why I am,” Russell met her gaze. “Asking for help, I mean.”
Fate nodded once. “You’re sure?”
Russell hummed, his left hand gripping his knee tighter. “I… I trust you. But, please… Please don’t- please don’t ask questions. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s okay. Wouldn't force you to.”
Fate stood up to grab the requested supplies (new gauze, shears and a bottle of saline) from the counter, giving him time to turn around. When she heard him shakily sigh, she turned back.
The witty retort about their switched positions died in her throat before she could even breathe.
Oh, gods above, this was worse than she thought.
Russell curled over his drawn-up knees; his back bowed and lay on full display. A true unspoken act of trust. The wound on his side was no longer bleeding heavily; it had started its weak attempt to scab over. The crusted blood of his injury did not what caused her to stop, nor did the knife wound itself.
No, what she saw was so much worse.
Fate's frozen stare locked onto the sight of two long, parallel scars that ran the entire length of Russell's back. The two jagged, red marks lay atop clammy skin, stretching from the top of his shoulders to below his ribcage.
She silently lowered herself to her knees. One hand tapped the floor; Russell tensed up, preparing for the painful touch. Her eyes scanned the multiple scars along his lower back before being drawn to the ridges of scar tissue. They were old - she could tell; she had experience with fatal wounds herself.
If the stretch marks littering the edges told her anything, he was still growing when it happened.
He was young when it happened.
She settled on the floor behind Russell, crossing her legs and getting comfortable.
Pouring some saline solution onto the cloth, she pressed it against the crusted blood around the wound. The pressure formed from a gentleness she did not know she could perform with her hands. Her hands harmed. Her hands killed.
Her movements dragged across the bottom of one of the scars, and Russell-
Russell’s back tensed under her fingertips. Not only could she feel it, she could see it. The top edges lifted in time with his shoulders. The skin shifted as if something moved underneath it, almost subconsciously. Almost like they were…
He had...
“Wings,” Fate whispered, turquoise eyes widening in shock.
Russell tensed completely, jerking away from her hands. A tremor began to form around his shoulders.
“You- You had wings.”
“You- You promised you would not ask any questions!” He growled, burying his face into his hands.
Fate cursed. Of course, it was a sore subject, and she brought it up without a second thought. Russell Lector was a hybrid with wings.
Is a hybrid?
Are you still a hybrid without your most obvious trait?
“Granted, it was not a question. I’ll keep my thoughts to myself now, though.” She retorted bluntly.
Fate stood in complete silence, turning away to place the alcohol and bloody cloth back on the counter. There was no way he was going to let her continue. She had blown her chance and broken his trust, all within a few words.
Her bluntness and his anger made them both remain silent. Fate grasped the door handle in a bruising grip, ready to leave him without a word.
She began preparing to go straight to Virgil, her angry words forming in her head.
“You were right.”
Fate paused by the door, tilting her head in question. Russell's eyes slowly met hers. He looked so tired. The tired look of her fellow hybrids was all too familiar on his face.
“I had wings.”
Fate left the office without another word.