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Today is the day of your date with Taako. Well, today is the day that you are going to eat dinner with Taako. You're assuming it's a date. You hope it's a date. Taako said that he'd be cooking, and you know very well that he doesn't cook unless it's a Very Important Meeting or if it's for a Very Important Person. You probably fall into the Very Important Person category, seeing as you've been maybe-possibly-dating for at least a month now. You're not sure though because Taako is hard to read sometimes.
You adjust your cloak and take a deep breath—not that you need it as you aren't technically alive—and try to calm down. You've done this dozens of times before. Rip a tear into the Physical Plane, step through, romance the elf, maybe have sex, kiss him goodbye, return to the Astral Plane, and then get back to work and pine over him until the next maybe-possibly-date with your maybe-possibly-boyfriend. Easy-peasy. Simple as pie. No problem.
Only you're incredibly nervous. Not only are you nervous, but you're actually having a hard time holding on to your mortal form. Your 'handsome form' as it has been called. You rap bare finger bones against the side of your skull and grit your teeth. You need to concentrate and hold yourself together. You need to be composed for your maybe-possibly-but-also-not-quite-date with Taako. You need to be the suave one.
(Even if that is only a very good façade.)
You rip a tear into Physical Plane in the common dining area shared by the Reclaimers and step through, making sure to sweep your cloak behind you so that it dramatically billows when Taako can see you. Closing the rift behind you, you walk up behind Taako—who is busy chopping some sort of vegetable you can't remember the name of—and plant a shy kiss on his head. Taako stiffens and there is the sudden sound of knife going through something significantly fleshier than the tuberous vegetable on the cutting board. The smell of the possibility of death permeates your nostrils and you can taste the blood that is coating the counter in the back of your throat. You leap back and wring your hands, already boney in anticipation of a fight—and nervousness and other emotions that are still somewhat foreign to you.
"Ffffffffffucking hell!!!" Taako swears and clutches his hand. You fight the simultaneous urges to step forward to help and run away.
"A-are you alright?! I didn't mean to—"
"Sssssshit man, no, you're fine. I just—fuck!—didn't expect you to do that. I was thinking you'd be here later. Damn that's deep!" Taako examines his hand, fingers coated in blood, and hisses.
"Let me—let me go get Merle. He'll help!" You step back towards the door, willing yourself to look more mortal and less like the bounty hunter who nearly took him to the Astral Plane, but Taako shakes his head vigorously.
"No can do bone daddy. Merle went and blew his spell slots on fucking Zones of Truth for some goddamn reason so that's a no-go."
"Shit."
"Agreed." You stand there, fretting. "What can I do?"
"You know healing magic?"
"I was a bard once, not a cleric, luv." You sound a lot more composed than you really are. Taako's shoulders sag. Then an idea hits you. "But I do have some medicine proficiency. Lemme see if you have a kit." You look toward him and he gestures to the cabinets above the oven.
"Kit's up there. There should be some disinfectant and shit. Oh my god this hurts like a fucker!" He moves to the sink and starts rinsing his hand off. "Shit motherfuck this dick is goddamn deep. My fuck that knife was sharp; I can see things I should not be able to see." If you had a stomach, it would be empty. Just because you can see your own bones doesn't mean that you want to see other people's; especially not people that you are intimate with.
You snag the kit and make your way over to him. He holds his hand out and—oh fuck that is a deep cut! Oh shit! The gash is across the back of his non-dominant hand and almost meets his thumb. It shows off white tendons and orange bones stained with blood and plasma. It's seeping blood pretty badly, but it doesn't look like its fatal, just really fucking nasty.
"Are you okay?" You ask as you gently—making sure your mortal form stays solid, seeing as fleshy fingers do better at first aid than phalanges—wipe away blood and apply fantasy antibacterial cream.
"As okay as I can be under the circumstan—HOLY GODDAMN FUCKING SHIT OW!"
You withdraw your fingers from the wound as quickly as you can. "Sorry..."
"No, no. I know it's gonna hurt like a bitch but damn!" He's biting his lip and, were it not for the fact that you were covered in his blood and cleaning a wound you caused, you might have found it a bit sexy.
You examine the wound closer, making sure that you're as gentle as possible. "You're going to need stitches. Butterfly plasters won't hold it and the wound is too deep to heal without some sort of closure." Taako stiffens and you look up to meet his eyes. "Taako?"
He gives you a weak grin. "Heh...can we maybe not do that?"
"What, stitch up your wound?" He nods, skin paler than before—and not from the blood loss. "No, I'm afraid that you're going to need that done. It has to stay closed or you might get an infection and lose that hand."
He pales further at that thought. "Ah well...um...yeah...okay then...fuck!"
You observe his movements, the way he shies away from the needle you're threading, the way he swallows heavily when you cast a small flame and disinfect the whole of the needle, the way he cradles his bleeding hand against his chest as if he's protecting it from something. It clicks.
"You're afraid of needles."
He stiffens. "What? Psh, naw," he tries to wave his hand dismissively but regrets it when blood flings around and the gauze he was pressing to his wound comes off, "SHIT! No, I mean, I don't like them, for sure, but afraid? Nah!"
"Taako," you gently take his injured hand in yours, maintaining eye contact the whole time, "it's alright to be afraid of things. Needles aren't the worst thing to be scared of and, considering your track record with death, I'm rather surprised that you aren't afraid of more things." You don't miss his lingering glance at the bloody cutting board and pot of boiling water. "But understand this: you're going to be okay." Then you strike.
Taako didn't like needles, for sure, but he didn't struggle. For what it was worth, he was actually very still. Deathly still, in fact. If it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest—shallow and rapid, but there—you would be worried. As it were, you just focused on the task at hand: sewing up your maybe-possibly-but-also-not-quite-boyfriend (because labels are odd and Taako doesn't like them that much). You pull the needle through his skin over and over again, making sure each thread is straight and taut, pulling the skin closed and keeping it from bleeding more. Your hands aren't shaking, nope, not one bit. You aren't terrified of scarring Taako. Not at all.
When you finish, you tie off the thread and cut it off. Taako starts breathing a little deeper and you relax. "There," you whisper, placing clean gauze on his stitched-up cut and taping it down. You place a kiss on the gauze and then another one on his forehead. "It should heal fine on its own but if you get a chance, get Merle to cast Heal Wounds on you tomorrow. That should keep it from scarring."
"Like I care about scars," Taako scoffs. His voice is a little hoarse and there's a raw patch on his bottom lip from where he chewed it up. He wiggles the fingers of his dominant hand and shows off a myriad of small burn scars and thin white lines. "Already scarred up enough for both of us."
"Well I'd rather you not get another, especially not because of me." You lower your eyes and stare at his hand, the wounded one, feeling guilty. Not just about the cut, but also Merle. His arm. The scars there.
"Hey, Krav." You look up at him and he smiles at you, this time with sympathy. "You're fine. I was clumsy, you just startled me. Besides, I ruined the parsnips. Unless you want homemade ketchup homie."
"Ick."
"Thought not."
You lose yourself in his eyes for a while and barely notice him calling your name. When you snap out of it, he's practically bouncing up and down, the umbra staff on his wrist.
"What?" You ask.
"Wanna go get some fantasy Totino's rolls, slap 'em in the microwave, and watch some shitty fantasy soaps while we cuddle up on the couch and pig out?"
You grin. "Only if they're the Elven kind."
"Do you take me for a pleb? Of course they're Elven!" Taako places his uninjured hand against his chest and looks offended.
"Excellent. I'll go by Fantasy Costco and pick up the fantasy Totino's rolls. You go ahead and pick the soap. Be right back." You stand up, open a rift to the Fantasy Costco, and look back at Taako before you go. He's still pale but he looks better and he's not swearing any more.
He blows you a kiss and winks. "Don't let Garfield con you out of anything important!"
"I've got the gold this time."
"Good."
"Love you!" And you slip through the rift.
Fuck! Why did you say that?!
You hope he doesn't mind.