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Viago groans, feeling like he’s been run over by a bronto and thrown off a cliff. He can’t see, but that must just be because there’s something over his eyes. His head aches, and the rest of his body feels half-numb and tingly in the way certain poisons make him feel.
“Viago, Dearest.” Emmrich greets. “Rest. You’ve been through a lot.” A cool hand lands on his forehead. “I’m here. You’re safe.”
“What happened?” He demands. “Why do I feel like I’ve been near fatality poisoned with Numb It All?” He tries to push himself up, only to meet Emmrich’s firm grip on his shoulder, pushing him back down as gently as possible.
Why is Emmrich hesitating? Something’s wrong. “Dearest. I need you to remain calm and listen to me. You were attacked and poisoned. Someone splashed something acidic on your face. You’ve been blinded.” Viago freezes, sliding back down into the bed below him.
He’s blind? How can he be blind? How is he supposed to make poisons and antidotes, or tend their gardens, or trace Emmrich’s attractive features, or give Rook another disapproving glare when he does something stupid again? How’s he supposed to keep being a Talon? What about watching Emmrich work while pretending to do paperwork?
Reaching a hand up to his face, bare fingers find his cheek, then pass over melted, mutilated flesh before finding rough bandages. His face aches slightly at the touch, but that’s hardly a problem in the grand scheme of things.
“I know this must be a shock to you, Dearest.” Viago reaches blindly in the general direction of Emmrich’s voice. He needs to find him. His breathing quickens. He needs to find him. He needs to find Emmrich. This isn’t something he’s prepared to deal with right now.
Too long passes before Emmrich’s comforting hand slips into his own. Viago’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s needed more than Viago would admit.
“I’m here.” A free hand makes its way to the side of his head. Fingers card through his hair. It helps his growing panic to feel the familiar motions.
“Em?” Viago’s voice is so much quieter than he’s ever heard it. “Don’t… Don’t leave me alone?”
“Never, Dearest.” He can hear the fond warmth in Emmrich’s tone. It helps. “I’ll be here as long as you need me.” Viago bites his lip, deciding he might as well let himself be vulnerable right now.
Grabbing the arm he knows is there, Viago pulls Emmrich to him, desperate to lose himself in the older man’s embrace. Emmrich lets him do just that.
Gripping onto Emmrich’s arm as though his life depended on it, Viago lets his husband lead him through their home. His steps are uncertain and small, something that brings a certain level of shame to fill his chest. He should have been better. He never should have found himself in this situation.
“Here we are, Dearest.” Emmrich’s patient directions get Viago seated at the kitchen table. “I’ll have lunch for you in a moment.” Emmrich presses a soft kiss to his forehead. He hears Emmrich’s footsteps moving around in front of him. He shouldn’t have to be catered to like this. It hurts his pride.
He chews his lip. “Something on your mind?” He must have been making a face.
“You shouldn’t have to do these things for me.” It’s barely a whisper. Pathetic. He’s better than this. He’s not an invalid.
Those footsteps freeze, something clacks off a table, then Emmrich approaches him. “Dearest.” Why is he so soft? Emmrich should be scolding him or agreeing. Not trying to soothe him. “You’re wounded. It’s fine to ask for help.”
“But—“
“Viago,” Emmrich’s hands find his own. “I know you still struggle to let others help you. But this isn’t something you can will you’re way through. You need the help, Dearest. Let me help you.”
“I’m not sure I can…” Viago mumbles.
Emmrich presses a kiss to his forehead once more. “I know, Dearest. And I know it’s hard for you to adjust. All I ask is that you try. This isn’t something you’re going to be able to adjust to without help.” He hates that Emmrich’s right just like he hates that this conversation is even necessary. “Now. Lunch is ready. Would you like my assistance, or would you prefer to try to eat on your own first?”
“I’m not a child!” Viago grumbles despite the hit to his pride being soothed somewhat by the options.
“You’re not. You’re recently disabled.” A click sound in front of him. Smells like a sandwich. He grumbles, hitting the side of the plate and flipping it over. “Here, Viago Dearest.” Emmrich gently guides his hand to the food, ensuring Viago has a proper grip on it.
It’s good. Emmrich’s cooking is always good. He’d cry if he still had eyes. Viago doesn’t deserve this.
Emmrich slides in beside him, pressing against Viago to comfort him. It’s sorely needed. “I know you don’t believe it, Dearest, but you deserve to be taken care of.” Emmrich’s right. Viago doesn’t deserve it.
Viago sits still as Emmrich peels the bandages off the space where Viago’s eyes once were. He doesn’t like the sensation. At least it should be the last time.
Cautious fingers touch the scars. “You’ve healed.” Viago appreciates that Emmrich didn’t add a modifier. It lessens the sting. With just a hint of anxiety, Viago reaches up to feel the area for himself. His fingers find a raised, uneven area of smooth skin covering the space from his cheekbones to somewhere into his hairline. It hurts.
A spike of self-consciousness shoots through him. Emmrich must think he’s hideous. He feels the need to hide himself away, but his pride won’t let him.
“I’ll understand if you want to leave me,” Viago states. “I have some idea how I must look.”
Emmrich stiffens beside him. He’s right, then? Emmrich no longer wants to look at him. It hurts more than Viago thought it would.
“Just because you’re scarred does not mean I find you less attractive!” Emmrich disagrees. “Yes, your good looks will never be the same, but you have always been more than your looks!” He doesn’t believe him. How could he, when every bit of Viago’s vulnerabilities is now laid bare for everyone to see?
Emmrich pulls him into a tight hug. “Dearest? Do you trust me?” Viago finds himself wrapping his arms around his husband, gripping him tightly. He nods stiffly into Em’s chest. “Then trust me when I say this won’t diminish your worth. If anyone thinks otherwise, then they don’t know what they’re talking about.” A hiccup rips from his throat as his breath hitches.
“Dad?” Viago flinches, hyper aware of the silk blindfold wrapped around the space his eyes used to be.
“Rook.” Viago finds himself reaching for Emmrich without really thinking about it. “What are you doing here?” Why is he nervous? It’s just the man he’s raised from a boy. There’s nothing to be afraid of.
“Emmrich told me what happened. I wanted to see how you were doing.” The nearly silent shuffle of boots on the floor is the only warning he gets before his ward’s hand ghosts over Viago’s arm. “Who did this to you?”
Viago doesn’t say anything. Em does it for him with a comforting squeeze to his hand. “We don’t know. Viago was found alone, and he doesn’t remember the attack.” Viago doesn’t respond, or even acknowledge that fact. It would shatter his already wounded pride to do so.
Anger radiates from the elven man beside him. “I’ll find whoever did this, Dad. I promise. Whoever it was won’t get away with this.” That’s not necessary. Viago’s already ruined. There’s little more that can be done to him in this state.
“I would tell you that’s unnecessary, but it’s not like you ever listened to me before,” Viago grumbles. “Instead, I’ll wish you happy hunting and demand you come back in one piece.”
“Anything for you, Dad.” Why does he have to sound so fond? Viago’s done nothing to deserve that, and now he’s become a liability.
Footsteps rush off, heavy and clearly audible for no one’s benefit but his own. “Dearest? Shall we get going? I believe we have an appointment to keep with the shop?” Why does Emmrich have to be so kind and understanding? It’s more than he deserves, even from his husband.
“Yeah…” They do have an appointment with the artisan creating Viago’s more permanent mask.
“You’ve been quiet, Em.” Viago states, debating if he likes the way his mask feels sitting on his deformed face.
“Forgive me, I was deep in thought.” His Necromancer states. “Dearest? Would you humor me? I have a suggestion, though I’m uncertain how you’ll take it.”
Viago stops in his tracks across the room. “What is it?”
Emmrich takes a moment to collect his thoughts. “I’ve been considering the possibility of how we can allow you greater freedom outside our home.” Hope and fear rise in equal measure. If Emmrich’s not certain Viago would approve, then what could he possibly have in mind? “A trip to the Necropolis could help improve your quality of life. Some Watchers find themselves companions in the depths that aid with such disabilities.”
“You want me to go to the Necropolis and come back with what, exactly? A corpse? A demon?”
“A wisp, preferably. Though other companions are not unheard of throughout the Mourn Watch.” Spirits. Of course. Why is he not surprised?
“And you think this will help?”
Emmrich’s hand comes up to his face, brushing a few strands of hair behind his ear. “I think the possibility exists.” Viago’s reward is a soft kiss that lasts nowhere near as long as he wanted it to. “If you’re okay with it, that is?”
Viago takes a moment to consider it. “Okay. I trust you.” He manages a smile for the first time since he lost his sight as he moves in to return the kiss. “You won’t let me be possessed by a demon.”
“Of course, Dearest.”
Viago’s not sure he’ll get used to the sensation of something else feeding information straight into his head anytime soon, but he’s been getting used to a lot recently, and really, this is the least jarring of them all.
“Are you certain you’re okay to be working with poisons again, Dearest?”
Viago manages a smile, knowing his Em was only trying to help him. “I’ll be fine. That’s why you’re coming with me. Surely, you’re up to the task of reading the vials I find myself unsure about.” He reaches up to touch Em’s face. It’s warm. He must be making one of those cute expressions Viago misses seeing.
“Certainly.” He doesn’t know where he’d be without this wonderful man in his life. Viago steals Em’s lips. There’s only so much time before they get to Viago’s workshop, and he’s tired of taking things for granted.
“Vi!” Teia calls. “It’s good to see you back!”
“I wasn’t expecting you for another two months,” Lucanis states. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“I’m fine,” Viago states. “I’m more than capable of handling the title of Fifth Talon.” He knows Em would be proud of him for coming this far.
“And the copious amounts of paperwork?”
“Is handled.” Viago will not be driven from his position because of his blindness, no matter how much the other Talons want to kick him out.
Viago snuggles into Em, letting his husband remove the mask he spends the better part of his days wearing before pressing himself into the older man’s chest. “Love you…” He mumbles, getting comfortable as Em settles in for the night.
Em smiles against his hair, replacing it with a kiss. “Love you, too, Dearest. Now rest. You’ve had a long day.” Viago mutters something he doesn’t care to fully articulate. Emmrich is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and he’s not sure where he’d be without him.
Viago pulls his husband into a nice, secure hug that he can fall asleep in. He’s never letting this man go. Not to death, not to assassins, not to anything.