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Lohen was going to be impossible about this.
Barbara knew it before she even entered Varka's office. The Grand Master had sent word that the Vice-Captain of the Fifth Company had returned from a mission with "significant injuries" and had "refused all healing."
When Barbara had asked if perhaps he'd visit the Cathedral, Varka had simply smiled that knowing smile that made it clear this wasn't a request.
So here she was, stepping into the office where Lohen sat rigidly in a chair, probably expecting Varka to lecture him about recklessness, not to summon a healer.
His expression when he saw her was almost comical. A flash of surprise, then something that looked suspiciously like panic, then a carefully constructed mask of indifference.
"Miss Barbara," Varka greeted her warmly, as if she'd simply stopped by for tea. "Perfect timing. Lohen, Barbara will be treating your wounds. I have other matters to attend to."
He rose, gathering papers like he'd already decided this conversation was over.
"That's not necessary," Lohen said immediately. "I'm fine."
"You're bleeding through your uniform," Barbara observed, spotting the dark stain along his left side. She set down her medical bag with the authority of someone who had ended this exact argument a thousand times. "Grand Master, I'll handle him from here."
Varka departed with barely concealed amusement, leaving Barbara alone with Lohen and his stubborn silence.
She didn't approach him immediately. Instead, she began unpacking her supplies, moving with practiced efficiency. She'd learned long ago that people like Lohen responded better to being given choices, being treated with respect, even when they were being difficult.
"I know you don't want this," she said patiently, laying out bandages on a nearby table. "But I'm going to heal you anyway, and it would be much easier if you cooperated."
"I don't need healing," Lohen said, but there was less conviction in his voice now.
Barbara turned to look at him properly, letting her professional gaze- the one that saw beyond excuses to the truth beneath- settle on his face. "Why do you refuse to let me heal you?"
He didn't answer immediately. When he did, his voice was quieter, more honest. "The pain reminds me I'm alive, I suppose."
It was such a lonely thing to say that Barbara felt her heart constrict. She'd heard multiple variations of this before, and she understood it, even as it broke her heart a little.
"Then I won't take that away," she said softly, approaching him. "Healing doesn't erase what you feel. It just makes sure you get to keep feeling it tomorrow, and the day after. It keeps you alive."
She knelt beside his chair, getting a better look at the wound. It was deep, probably needed stitches beneath the bandaging. She reached for the edge of his torn uniform, and Lohen stiffened.
"May I?" She asked, and the simple courtesy seemed to shake something loose in him. He nodded.
Barbara carefully peeled back the fabric, revealing the injury to be worse than she'd thought. She made a soft sound of disapproval. Not angry, or sad, but disappointed.
"This is a nasty one," she murmured, already reaching for the supplies she'd need. "Hold still."
She began to clean the wound with practiced movements. Lohen's breath hitched at the sting of the cleaning solution, but he didn't pull away. Barbara worked in silence for a moment, then couldn't quite help herself.
"You know," she said conversationally, "There's a difference between surviving and living. Pain might remind you you're alive, but so does a lot of other things. Kindness, laughter, comfort. Those are alive too."
Lohen didn't respond, but she felt the slightest relaxation in his shoulders.
She reached for her vision, the familiar warm glow suffusing her hands. She had to lean closer to ensure it reached the deepest parts of the wound and her face was suddenly very near his. She felt rather than saw him go rigid again.
A faint blush colored his pale cheeks.
Barbara found her own face warming even as she focused on the healing, acutely aware of how close they were, of how his breath hitched slightly every time she reached a particularly deep part of the injury. She kept her eyes on her work, maintaining her professionalism, but noticed her heart was beating a little faster.
"You're going to keep doing this," she said, her voice firm, "And I'm going to keep healing you, unless you decide that you deserve better than this."
She didn't look him in the eye as she spoke, concentrating on sealing the last of the wound. The skin knitted back together under her touch, leaving only faint lines that would fade within days.
"You're allowed to want to live," she added quietly. "You're allowed to want more than just surviving. That's not a weakness."
The healing light faded, and she finally pulled back, creating distance between them again. Lohen's blush had deepened, spreading down his neck, and he looked away, his jaw tight.
"I'll speak to Varka about assigning you lighter duties while you recover," Barbara said, returning to her professional tone as she began packing her supplies. "I expect you to come to the Cathedral if you're injured again. Don't make me stage another intervention."
There was no real threat in her words, just gentle insistence.
Lohen was quiet for a long moment. Then, so quietly she almost missed it: "Thank you."
Barbara glanced back at him, finding him still looking away, still blushing, his hands clenched in his lap like he was holding onto something. She felt that same constriction in her chest, that ache that came from seeing someone struggling to accept care.
"You're welcome," she said softly. "I meant what I said. You deserve to live. Not just survive."
She left before he could respond, before her own blush could betray just how much she meant those words.
Behind her, she heard him take a shaky breath, his hand moving to his side where she'd healed him as if checking that the wound was truly gone. As if checking that something real had just happened.
Something had. Barbara could feel it, the same way she could feel the pull of her own heart toward this broken, beautiful man who was finally, perhaps, beginning to understand that being alive meant more than just carrying pain.
It was a start.