Chapter Text
Harris glanced up from his computer as his office door opened. Troy had his back turned against him as he shut the door.
"Hey, stud. Just gimme one second.." Harris dragged out the syllables as he faced the computer again, closing his articles and shutting it down, knowing he would not be getting any work done any time soon.
"Do you even have practice today? I thought it was cancelled. Not that I don't-" Harris lost his train of thought as he finally turned to look at Troy, seeing the blood pouring out of his nose and several other places across his face. "Holy Fuck!"
Harris was uncharacteristically speechless as his eyes flew over the mess of Troy's face; what looked like a split lip, a cut over his eyebrow, bruised and scraped cheeks and an even-more-crooked nose. Basically, he looked like he'd just gone ten rounds with Rocky Balboa, and he was still sitting politely in his office chair like they were about to make small talk. And shit, he probably would've.
"What the hell happened to you?" Harris asked as he stood up. Troy almost flinched, staring up him through a rapidly-swelling black eye, as if, like, he'd thought Harris wouldn't notice, or something.
"It's fine."
"Your nose is actively bleeding."
"Shit, sorry," he pulled a handful of bloody napkins out of his jeans pocket and pressed them against his face, "Thought I had it covered."
For a moment, Harris could only stare, gobsmacked and a little endeared. Troy was at least a head taller than him, but right now he looked like a pathetic wet cat, all rumpled and bloody.
"Alright tough guy, let's go. We're going."
Harris pulled him up by his unoccupied shoulder and practically dragged him into the single-stall bathroom. Forcing Troy to sit on the closed toilet seat, he turned and started pulling out toilet tissue and running the water. He scanned the room for the first aid kit, pouncing on it and throwing it open on the counter.
"You really don't have to, like, do anything. This'll stop in a minute, I'll be fine. I've had worse."
Harris knew it was true. He'd seen Troy get into worse scrapes on the ice, mostly when he was still in Toronto, and he could only imagine the scraps he had been getting into as Dallas Kent's wingman.
Still, it was... unfathomable, to imagine not taking care of Troy right now. Troy, who was slumped in the corner, holding his face and staring at the ground like a schoolboy in trouble. Troy, who liked all of his instagram posts, and stared at him whenever he came to watch a practice, and visited his office all the time for no reason.
"Nonsense," Harris said, taking out an ice pack and activating it, "This should stop the bleeding, and hopefully the swelling too. Though I don't think you have much chance of not looking like a panda for the next couple days."
He handed the ice pack to Troy, who pressed it roughly to the bridge of his nose. Harris quirked his lip and gathered the damp paper towels before crouching in front of Troy.
"Let me know if this hurts, and I'll stop." Harris warned, already knowing Troy never would.
Troy made no response other than an audible gulp, so Harris moved in. He began by dabbing his chin where his split lip had dribbled, moving up to his cheeks, which were mostly just grazed and bruised. He kept his touches featherlight, and tried not to notice how Troy was staring at him through half-lidded eyes, his face only inches away. By the time Harris had taken care of the cut on his eyebrow, and changed the red tissues for fresh ones, Troy's nose had finally finished trickling, so Harris gently began to run the cold tissues over the space above his mouth. Troy looked impossibly relaxed for someone in his situation, his head drooping and his body curling forward into the soft touches. A couple more swipes over his lips and the dried blood was cleared from his face.
"Perfect," Harris whispered, and then cleared his throat, because he hadn't meant to say that at all. "I'm gonna, um, check for bumps now." He pulled away and drew his hands up to Troy's head. Slowly, Harris grazed his fingers over his scalp, running through the black strands. He pretended not to notice the small, soft noise Troy made or the way he was leaning forward again, his head almost on Harris' chest.
Harris had to stop this, before he did something ridiculous, like wrap his arms around him or press a kiss to his forehead.
Deciding Troy's head was fine, Harris stood up and moved back, ignoring how Troy almost tipped forwards from the loss of his presence.
"You feel good. I mean, your head feels good. I mean, you don't have a concussion, I think. Probably." Fuck. So much for stepping back before things got weird. Get it together, Harris, he mentally berated himself, although he swore he could see the corner of Troy's mouth twitch upwards.
"Does it hurt anywhere else?"
Troy snapped out of his daze and looked down at himself. He flipped his hands over and Harris noticed the bloody, bruised knuckles of both hands. Harris hated fighting with a passion, but he couldn't help feeling relieved that Troy had gotten some hits back on whoever had done this to him. Which reminded him that he had no idea what had actually happened.
"Do you.. wanna talk about it?"
"...It was just some old guy on my walk here. He was staring at me, and he said some stupid shit about Dallas, and me being in Ottawa, that kinda thing. I tried to ignore him, but he threw the first punch. I swear, I wasn't trying to get into a fight, or anything. I'm not.. like that."
I'm not violent.
I'm not aggressive.
I'm not Dallas Kent.
Harris didn't know what to say to that, so he continued gently wiping Troy's knuckles. He knew Troy wasn't exactly popular around Ottawa. Or around most places, at the moment. The struggle of being politically correct in the hockey world. Still, Harris never imagined it could get this bad; to be randomly assaulted, in the daylight, near where you live? For a brief moment Harris entertained the idea of Troy having a bodyguard, somebody to follow him around for simple outings like hockey practice, picking up coffee, going for a run. But he imagined that Troy was just as big and strong as any bodyguard they could find, anyway. And the image of him being escorted around wouldn't exactly do wonders for his fragile street cred. Whatever.
Troy shifted and Harris suddenly realised that he was casually holding Troy's damaged hands, having finished cleaning them several mental spirals ago. It might've been sweet, if not for all the blood. As if to silence that train of thought, Harris cleared his throat and started bandaging the worst of the injuries on Troy's knuckles.
He finished wrapping his fingers and taped it up to Troy's hand. And then - horrifyingly, as if he was watching someone else do it - he leaned forward and gently kissed the top of his hand, through the wad of bandages. Instantly, he felt his face heat up.
"Sorry. That's- my Mom used to do that. For good luck. Or.. healing. Or something." She didn't, but Troy didn't have to know that.
He looked up at Troy, who was, thankfully, smiling gratefully. Perhaps his face was a little more pink, and his eyes a little more shiny than his injuries could explain. Or, perhaps Harris was reading him too much.
Harris wondered if anyone had ever done this for Troy before. Patched him up after an injury. His Mom used to, probably. Maybe old girlfriends. Troy's ex boyfriend probably never had, and his old teammates certainly never would've. Troy wasn't usually one for being vulnerable out loud. But Harris could tell that he was trying - it was a huge step even for Troy to come visit him today, with no excuses or reasoning, just to see him on his day off.
"Hey, what were you up to, anyway? No complaints here, but what made you come in on your day off?" Harris asked, expecting him to say something like i was going to the gym, but delusionally praying he would say for you.
Instead, Troy's face crumpled and he groaned, pressing a hand to his side, "Shit, Harris, I forgot," Harris' heartbeat skyrocketed as he considered what he might've overlooked; broken ribs, internal bleeding, a stab wound. He could only stare as Troy reached inside his jacket and pulled out... a crumpled coffee shop paper bag.
"I'm really sorry." He said, pulling open the bag as if it would reveal something a lot worse than some mushy, flattened cake pops. "There was a whole... I got you coffee, too, I must've spilled it..." Troy flinched as he frowned and caused his face to sting, "It was fancy too, you would've liked it, some.. matcha.. mocha.. ato... thing. I'm sorry, Harris."
Troy was definitely not describing a real drink, but he appreciated the sentiment. What he did not appreciate, however, is how genuinely devastated Troy looked, as though getting the crap beaten out of you was nothing compared to a $5 coffee puddle on the pavement outside. Troy had gotten the crap beaten out of him whilst getting Harris a coffee. Just randomly doing something kind for him, on his day off, and now he's got two black eyes and probably a broken nose. What did Harris do to deserve this man?
"Troy, I'm not.. mad at you, or anything. Don't be silly! That was a really nice thing for you to do for me, and I'm sorry that this happened to you. It's... can we go sit back down in my office? I'll get you some water."
Harris began to move away, but he stopped as a hand reached out and grabbed his wrist. Slowly, like he was giving Harris the chance to pull away, Troy lifted Harris' hand to his face. Harris took the initiative and carefully cupped his cheek, running a thumb over Troy's cheekbone, just under the worst of the bruising. Harris revelled in the way Troy's eyes gently closed again as he let out a shaky breath.
"Thank you. For helping me, and.. for being here," Troy murmured as Harris' other hand found the back of his neck.
"I'm always here. Like, literally. I work here, remember?"
Troy huffed out a laugh, "Dick," he said, even as his arms snaked around Harris' lower back and he leaned his forehead against his stomach, "I'm being serious. I appreciate you. A lot."
Damn. Now Harris felt bad for trying to turn this into a joke. Troy's words were muffled into Harris' sweater like he was embarrassed to be saying them.
"I appreciate you too, buddy. And I was also being serious, I'm always gonna be here for you. That part isn't exactly in my job description, but I guess I have a soft spot for you."
"Lucky me." Troy grinned, staring up at him from under his long eyelashes.
Harris was fucked.