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A week had passed since the confrontation that had happened between Tartaglia and Neuvillette in the Opera Epiclese, resulting in severe injuries sustained by both parties.
A week... Seemed like an eternity to Wriothesley, was a continuous haze between operating rooms and the intensive care unit as multiple surgeries were being performed on the Iudex, which was required for controlling and healing the damage that blast did to his internal organs and tissues.
His condition was so delicate that keeping him stable alone required an enormous effort. The last stage of hypovolemic shock was caused by his spleen rupturing at the impact, to his diaphragm, which penetrated just above. Blood changing cavities relentlessly leading to a serious case of hemothorax... From the moment they arrived at the hospital to the moment he paced through the long, never-ending corridor from one edge to the other, he was unable to keep track of the time passed during Neuvilette's surgery. Nevertheless, in his memory, the intensity of rain was clear as each droplet hit the tinted glasses of the waiting room with absolute force. Even after all of those hours, thunderstorm was not relenting, ongoing without any breaks.
Wriothesley was only allowed to visit him days after the final surgery, when the possibility of infection, which might be caused by external factors, was lowered significantly, and was proven not to create a deliberate problem. He tenderly donned the required equipment for providing sterility while hiding the tremors running through his arms and hands, with a mask and bonnet hiding his feelings behind. Corridors and rooms blending to each other with the dimmed lights of ICU and the faint smell of antiseptic guiding the way, Sigewinne held a small card in front of a sensor, unlocking the last door separating them and Neuvillette. The tall, half-opaque glass slid away louder than he expected.
Sigewinne's eyes narrowed, the scrubs she was wearing rustled as her gloved hands gestured towards the private room, signing him to enter.
His blue irises were inspecting devices surrounding the cold room entering his field of view first; he immediately glanced at Neuvillette, who was lying almost lifelessly on a half-inclined bed with many poles holding bags of fluids and machines hanging nearby; a tube attached to his pale face with tapes was inserted deep against his trachea. The ventilator steadily hissed, pushing the breath down to his contused lungs.
Sedation. Wriothesley briefly recalled the surgeon mentioning he would be sedated due to the severity of his injuries, especially for increasing his coherence with the ventilator. His diaphragm was torn after all, the thought of the pain he had to endure was enough to steal a breath from him.
Lots of tubes and wires were hooked up to his chest and arms, counting all of them in this state would be proven impossible. A thin and long nasogastric tube was fixed near his nose. A bundle of colored cables was connected to another monitor, evaluating his vital signs. An arterial line was sticking out from his left wrist. The chest drain system, sealing the remnants of blood and liquids, was also there to be seen, still fresh in his memory. Another bag was fastened near the lower rails, collecting and measuring the urine output. His arms were also restrained with fabrics wrapped around his limbs connected to the side railings of the bed...
Wriothesley took seconds, maybe minutes —it seemed like— to listen his steady heartbeats, watching several monitors positioned near the bed with his undivided attention.
The other nurse standing beside Sigewinne insisted that the Duke should not be present during the dressing change, though Wriothesley kindly refused her advice to leave the unit. Stating that he will be fine to see regardless of how severe the damage is. Swallowing the lump of fear forming in his throat, he managed to take a careful look at his broken torso.
Everything looks wrong.
Sigewinne raising the hem of the white gown enough to reveal whole bandaged site covering the area that was previously operated on, Wriothesley thought this was worse than what he initially remembered as not only the left side visible with deep cuts where Neuvillette was injured from but the entirety of his abdomen was covered with layers of white gauze blending with his pale skin, creating the neat dressing.
Removing the utmost layer as she moistened the tapes with saline to prevent tissue damage, slowly lifting the edges sticking to his skin. On the gauze, keeping the whole site of laceration secure, scarlet lines edges became visible, which were spreading away from his mid-section, tracing the incision.
A vertical line extending from below his sternum to his navel was evenly closed by multiple stitches and staples. Residues of dried blood crusts were noticeable at points of entrance for every line of sutures; the nearby tissues were bruised with purple patches softening to greens at the edges, still swollen.
Near the long incision, emerging from the left side of his abdomen, there was another oval-shaped drain, secured to his skin via black, thick sutures, which was fulfilling its function by evacuating the pink-hued fluid from his abdominal cavity.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Wriothesley couldn't help but remember the moments haunting his memory during that trial.
He reminisced about the amount of blood rushing out from that huge gash on Neuvillette's abdomen, with the porcelain skin freezing like he was under Cryo for ages.
He reminisced about the shape of his wound. With the burns, from the tension, to color and definition. Far different from what he was acquainted with compared to any of his past experiences.
A quick exhale escaped his lungs as he recalled Neuvillette's body, covered in blood, lying on a puddle of dark crimson. His chest was barely moving to his breaths, as his mouth and lips were covered in foam. The white strands of his hair were already free from the ribbon tie; all splayed around his frame, drenched in a similar hue. He was looking like death itself; on the brink of drawing his last breath.
Thoughts surfacing through the cracks of Wriothesley's logic, created with care, he felt the knees crumbling against his tall boots. Taking a second to stand still, the worst-case scenario was still crossing the edge of his mind, regardless of how much he tried to convince himself that everything would be fine.
Neuvillette was more than resilient.
His recovery was far from being considered smooth, with some complications occurring along the way during his ICU stay. Despite everything, his injuries were healing faster than expected. Though only after several assessments were made to prove his condition was not going to worsen and deteriorate, the medical team was able to transfer him to a private ward.
Wriothesley, now seated on a soft couch beside Neuvillette's bed, noticed the sunrise was shining upon the hospital room through the half-lidded crystal windows. Except for the drainage systems and intravenous lines, there were no other medical devices in sight.
Even after days, Neuvillette was still quite feverish. Sigewinne explained patiently how his immune system operates differently from that of a regular human, and the changes in his fever were due to the powers used to injure him, which were conflicting with his own source, emphasizing that his wound was not infected in any means.
Rising and falling.
Wriothesley found comfort in listening to consistent inhales and exhales, as he kept watching his serene face, even if a brief expression of pain was still clinging, he was peacefully resting under the effects of medications.
After a time, seemingly shorter than a heartbeat, Neuvillette's body stirred against the blankets covering the limbs below his waist, with his eyes fluttering against the lamps of the ceiling, a quiet whimper reached the Duke's ears, whose elbows were pinned above his knees with fists clutching to each other. Wriothesley's gaze was fixated on the Iudex’s pale face, his mind puzzled with the processes of thought to understand what was happening as Neuvillette took a sharp breath through the nose, trying to muffle the ache and dizziness starting to bother him.
"How are you feeling?"
"I-" a wheeze from the lungs cut through his sentence in half. "I am going to be sick." Neuvillette raised from the elevated backrest supporting his weight, hands clenched the long strands, —untied from the ribbons while he was sleeping— pulling them back.
“Are you nauseous?” Before grasping the answer Neuvillette could give, Wriothesley already started moving hastily with one hand, finding the basin positioned on the table. Without any delay, he rushed through his side.
A broken voice resembling a confirmation, with his palm covering in front of the trembling lips, he arched forward, trying to hold back the stomach content (or whatever was left inside) harshly forcing their way to escape; with the attempts of heaving burning every inch of his throat, every part of his skin under the line of stitches embroidered on his torso.
Drawing gentle circles against his back despite the hesitation, wary of not hurting him: “There there, I’m here.” he hushedly repeated. Trying his best not to overwhelm him with his own concern, while wearing the facade of stability he was too accustomed to; a pained voice between cough and gag filled the room, tormented Neuvillette's entirety as he intensely vomited into the basin.
Change of sounds from the drainage chamber was noticeable, with the line connected to the left side of his chest tugging against the gown uncomfortably. Wriothesley could see that the amount of serosanguinous fluid flowing through was visibly increasing with a rush, welcoming each retch.
The sounds of gagging dimmed gradually, and that was only when Wriothesley made a move to press the call button positioned at the back railing of the bed. With a soft touch, the sensor of the light flashed once, twice, and then stilled.
The residues of clear bile spilling from his parted lips to the basin, which was held tightly in front of him, trying to take a full breath despite the throbbing sensation between the intervals, he heaved dry. Sudden increase in pressure as the muscles beneath the bandages tensed, sent another wave of excruciating ache through his trembling frame. Tears forming near his firmly shut eyes, a few drops traveled across his flushed cheeks, which were brushed away by a scarred thumb, as low-grade fever was still lingering and persisting despite the medications. He could perceive the quickened heart rate from the change of the pace and subtle dampening on the gauze, but couldn't bring himself to worry about it.
“It’s okay.” A soft, muffled but steadying tone reached his ringing ears when he only now came to the realization of the person stabilizing his limp body while holding his forehead to prevent him from buckling over and irritating the wound. Cold sweats forming on his temple with the bitterness invading his whole sense of taste, he wished for this terrible feeling to pass, this burning pain to come to an end as his midsection protested every single twitch.
Realizing Neuvillette's attempt to raise his head away from the basin, which was filled with condensed clear fluid with a brief yellowish tint, foams formed on top of the mixed content clinging to the edge of the white plastic, he controlled the components to check for bleeding before placing the basin out of sight. The Duke swiftly grabbed multiple tissues placed on top of the bedside table, tried to hand over some of them but, with the tiredness consuming the Iudex's whole mind, his hands were shaking too much to hold them.
“May I?”
A small hesitation. Slight nod, giving the needed consent, Wriothesley pressed the tissues near his lips, softly cleaning residues staining the corner of his mouth.
Each movement of his gaining some murmurs; Neuvillette's disoriented, glassy eyes were seemingly distant. An endeavor to understand the reason, sudden wavering of the Iudex stopped the rays of notion flowing through Wriothesley's mind.
“Hey, stay with me?” Putting a steady arm behind his back, covered by the soft hospital gown, he could sense the weight heavily shifting onto him as a slight groan left from his dried mouth. Lavender irises rolled a little before gaining focus once more.
“Do you feel faint?” he asked while sitting on the edge of the bed, minding to be as slow as he could to not jostle any of his injuries. He let him lean towards his arms and chest.
Soft strands of silver hair poured around his frame, the edges of his tired and feverish gaze hidden by the side bangs, with lines of blue covering the corners of his glassy eyes, met with the Duke. “Dizzy,” he kept blinking rapidly to clear the fumes covering his vision.
“You are going to be okay.” He moves his hand to remove the strands covering his concerningly pale face. Bringing his palm above his temple, he could feel the enormous heat radiating through the clammy skin. “You want to lie down?”
“A few seconds. Please, I-” His breathing quickened. “I'll faint if I move,” he muttered at the verge of collapsing; His head lolled onto Wriothesley's chest, hair was tangling around the ornaments hanging above his jacket. Trying to stabilize the half-conscious body swaying towards him, his heart seized at the brief grimace stirring on his ashen face. He kept soothing him while softly grazing his wrists, which had already lost the tone to keep them stiff. Humming leisurely to ground him there, seeing him not responding to his voice was beyond concerning.
"Neuvillette?" Wriothesley softly called his name, fingertips coated with Cryo emitting the cold, which remained close to his forehead, was helping to neutralize the fever. He relaxed against his touch, flowing hair sprawling on his steady chest. Eyes opened briefly with an airy tune barely higher than a whisper muttered his name.
He is fine, he is breathing...
His sallow cheeks turned to the hues of red with an unreadable emotion, respiration was still heavy with each one taking an unimaginable effort. Raspy voice caused by the acid passing through tucked and irritated vocal cords, he mumbled a sentence with each word caught by shortened, weak breaths: “I am… apologizing for the inconvenience.”
"My dear Iudex," Wriothesley declared, as Neuvillette's eyes widened with clear astonishment, a thin smile formed on his lips.
“You are never an inconvenience.”
He clearly stated without a delay, without a single hesitation lingering on his words.
Even with his diminished strength, Neuvillette tried his best to support his weight under the unsteady arms, turning his face towards him to see the consideration gracing his expression.
"Thank you..."
Embracing the movement with extra care for his injuries and bandaged abdomen, Wriothesley wrapped his arms around his chest, cuddling the willow body without disturbing the inserted tube between his ribs. Each time hot exhales, struck with fever hits his chest, where Neuvillette buried his face, were sending chills down to his spine.
Silence surrounding them both was more than easing. Despite the occasional involuntary hisses breaking the quiet with each one led to a plea to learn if his pain was too much to bear; gradually loosening the arms around him, Wriothesley always asked to confirm if he was alright. He knew the injuries like these were supposed to hurt, they were made in a way so everything would hurt.
Neuvillette's half-conscious mind wondered about how long it had been since there was someone nearby who deeply valued him, making him feel as if he was cared for. Centuries left in loneliness; agony belonged to him, was always his to mend. "Means a lot..." He whispered, finding comfort in every breath holding him fondly.
"I am fine..."
After making sure he was not on the verge of another fainting spell, Wriothesley helped by pressing Neuvillette's back against the silk pillows, gently guiding the torso to a far less straining position; he took enough time until his breathing evened again to tuck some soft blankets onto his shaking figure, making sure not to cover his entire body due to fever.
Neuvillette tried to relieve the ache through gently clasping above the gauze, relying upon his own abilities. The particles emitting the lights of Hydro enveloping his features near his wounds, the tension of his shoulders melted away with the pure attention dedicated to the sutured flesh for bringing relief.
Voices increasing in volume beyond the corridor, the metal door of Neuvillette's room opened fast, without a single knock.
“Sigewinne?” There was another nurse following her quick steps from behind as she was carrying a few bags of fluids with quite large volumes.
“Your Grace, what happened?” Walking quickly towards the bedside while rolling a cart with some equipment aligned on top, she asked with a concerned tone. Still, the seriousness of a healthcare professional was there to be heard.
“He was feeling nauseous. Then he vomited.” Hastily showing the basin near the table with a quick motion. Taking a few steps away from the bed to open some space for the nurses, he glanced at Neuvilette again, who was faintly frowning with his grip tightened around the bandages; his knuckles were turning to the shades of white with how hard he was holding to himself.
"He was about to lose consciousness."
“No sign of GI bleeding,” Sigewinne mumbled to herself after checking the basin and throwing it into a closed can nearby the cart. Removing the blankets spread onto his lower body, she quietly leaned onto the bed, approaching the Iudex tenderly.
“Monsieur Neuvillette, please let me have a look.” Gently placing her hands onto his shaking ones without force, he winced as the unexpected contact with the confusion still clinging to his thoughts. Prying his eyes open to meet the kind gaze of her pink irises, he complied with her wishes and removed his hand pressing above the gown.
“I know this is comforting, but I don't want you to drain all your energy on healing the damage and tiring yourself more. Are you in pain?"
"Ah Sigewinne..." A quiet groan, which he tried to conceal by a smile, answered her. "Here... Is uncomfortable, but it is not grave." His hand with a cannula attached, hovered above the left side of his chest and just below the diaphragm, tracing the upper sections of the incision.
Wriothesley couldn't help but scowl at Neuvillette's attempts to hide his ache, as he was not trying to endure this suffering already. Some of the valves are turned on at the backboard, and an oxygen mask was then slid onto the Iudex's face, fogging instantly while it helped to ease his heaving chest, dulling the previous spreading twinge.
“Keep deeply breathing, alright?” Sigewinne softly indicated, as she checked some ordered medications from a small chart she brought.
“Do you think it is safe for him to use his abilities now?” Wriothesley froze for a moment, shorter than a second, before collecting the thoughts tangled in his mind and completing the sentence: “He is still healing."
"I don't want him to be hurt."
A voice too small, afraid to break what was already fragile.
“Small usage of healing powers won’t affect him badly, but if he overexerts himself, that will bring more harm than good for the recovery process,” Sigewinne answered calmly, but in her heart and tone, sharing the apprehension. Preparing a vial with a few medications measured individually and appropriately mixed inside, she picked a syringe of an adequate size, pulling the liquid into the barrel with a thin needle. Cleaning the edge of the IV port with a wipe drenched in antiseptic for seconds, with the clean smell kept hanging in the sterile air, she waited until the port dried properly. The line is then flushed once with a small amount of saline. Medicine was pulled from a transparent glass vial to a syringe; the needle connected to the end of the port was compressed slowly, delivering the prescription to the selected line.
Iudex's eyes flickered between the Duke and nurses walking around to bring some materials. He felt the squeeze of a cuff near his arm, but he was too overwhelmed to do anything and was completely out of it as a voice managed to bring him back from the depths of his own suffering.
“Look at me..."
Neuvillette raised his clouded gaze, looking at the owner of these words as Wriothesley's hands started moving towards the top of his head, caressing the soft white hair between his rhinophores. He saw the tired eyes looking directly at him as the fingertips started brushing his wrist joints.
"Does it hurt so much?" His facial features softened with anticipation of the answer, Wriothesley asked, running his fingers between the strands of his exquisite hair to provide relief.
“Still sore, but I’ll be alright.” Neuvillette squeezed his hand in affirmation, yet the touch was frail with the weariness he wished to hide.
“I will check the site of the incision as well as the drains. You might feel some pulling, but it should not hurt badly. We just administered some painkillers and antiemetics.” Sigewinne's soothing emphasis demanding both of theirs attention, cut through the silence ongoing for a while.
Sigewinne covering Neuvillette's legs and pelvis with the blanket again, she raised his gown, uncovering the field of bandages wrapped around his mid-section, and the rings of his ribs. Checking the lines of tubing for kinks and blockages, she patiently followed every path with specific distances from his chest to the main chamber. Marking the level of liquid collected with a black pen, her neat handwriting narrowed to be able to squeeze the date and hour into the small space between the two volumes.
The other drain attached to his left upper side, where his spleen was removed, the bulb seemed to be inflated. Her thumb and index fingers squeezing the tube, started moving downwards, cleaning the line to make sure no blood clots were obstructing the way. The lid is opened as the pink fluid inside, poured into a graduated cup. The walls of the chamber pressed tightly enough to inflict a contact; leading the drain bulb to remain in that position.
A quick peek behind the other nurse, Wriothesley saw the bruises were spread across the abdomen and blooming against his chest, the waves hitting the edge of the stitches keeping the wound safe, the burn mark present near the initial laceration was faded significantly compared to the first inspection. There was some fresh dark red bleeding around the incision, seeping across the entire wound surface. The speed of the bleeding was low, and the edges started to crust.
After removing the old dressing stained with oozing blood to check the status of bleeding, Sigewinne placed another clean gauze between the flats of her hand, pressing firmly on top of his stitched laceration. The reaction was abrupt, as Neuvillette's hiss between the clenched teeth was perceptible. With the support provided by her activated vision, the elements of Hydro trying to blur his distress, pain pulsed down gradually. Tension kept him tight, releasing with intervals, the numbness replaced the echoes, requiring urgency.
A few minutes passed in silence, with his deepened breaths now calming, she cautiously removed the gauze. Seeing little to no blood staining the fibers, Sigewinne seemed satisfied with his condition, her wings rising with a smile, quietly providing the assurance.
“You bled through the bandages a little, but the stitches are intact; you do not need to worry about reopening the wound.”
“Your care is really appreciated, Sigewinne.” Neuvillette's voice divulging his tiredness with each words intensified with effort, seeing her warm smile as she answered with the bright “Always!", after the long-awaited comfort, he loosened his grip on the linen sheets. Effects of the medications traveling through his veins, slowly pulling him under a state of haze mixed with exhaustion; seeing how his drowsy eyes were struggling to stay open, with long silver eyelashes determined to meet each other. Realizing his attempts to stay awake, Sigewinne took a glimpse of Neuvillette's expression.
“I will change the dressing now. You can sleep, Monsieur Neuvillette. We will be here when you wake up!"
Neuvillette felt her hands prodding the tissue near the sutures with the coldness spreading away from his core; each touch stroking the stitched lines across the dermis of his abdomen. Sigewinne's kind hums resonating with his ears as Wriothesley's lightened visage attained to reach his blurred vision, with the warmth filling his heart, he deemed to close his eyes in alleviation.
Everything will be fine,
Well, eventually.