What, from that guy? [ His voice is still hoarse, only just above a whisper, but he tries for a cooky smirk, because she looks-- he thinks she looks upset, almost. But she's trying to hide it. Maybe she's pissed at him for being a liability? For being weak? He had been pretty useless, after all. ]
[ He ventures a glance up at her, brows furrowed in thought and the corners of his mouth turned down a little. His eyes wander, trying to dredge up the memory. He had a reason, he remembers. What was it again? ]
... You were in trouble. [ He says it slowly, but after a beat of silence, it's clear that it's the only answer he has to offer. ]
[ He follows her gaze and seems to notice the scars for the first time, tentatively feels along them with the tips of his fingers. He laughs a little, then lets his head fall back. ]
Nice story, at least. "Got stupid, tried protectin' a Siren."
[ she goes to where she left his things and retrieves a skein of water, her rabbit and a knife. The water she offers to him, one he takes it, she sits down and begins prepping the rabbit to cook. ]
If there's anything else you need, please let me know.
You have only ever treated me as a person, as a partner, and I wouldn't trade that for anything- in your world or mine. Don't think that I regret having met you when hours ago I was terrified of losing you.
[ He stares at her for a long while (breathe in, breathe out, just breathe, just breathe) but eventually he turns his head to stare at the ceiling of the little cave.
He doesn't believe her, and he feels a twinge of bitterness at the realization -- because for a second, he wanted to. He likes Maya, really likes her, considers her a friend when he hasn't had a real one since he was a child. He was stupid enough to take a blow meant for her, and something in his gut sinks when he thinks that if he had to repeat the day, he'd do it again. He doesn't want to see her hurt.
But why should she feel the same about him? The closest thing he has to a family anymore is the Ravagers, and none of them would shed a tear if he was lost, would in fact divvy out what paltry belongings he had left behind, if they hadn't done so already. And Maya is under an obligation to him; she has to protect him because of their contract, and she's a Siren, leads men to their doom--
-- No, no, that's the Ravager voice, and Peter needs to stop listening to it.
He doesn't know if it's the way his head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat or if it's the all-encompassing ache of his body that has scrambled his thoughts, but obviously he's not thinking clearly right now. ]
... Tired. [ He digs the heels of his palms into his temples. It's a ridiculous cop-out, and he knows it, but he can't deal with this right now, and he shifts slightly away from her. ] Sorry, just-- tired.
[ Something about the way he avoids acknowledging what she just said- which was no small confession on her part- and the way he scoots away from her, well, it hurts.
No one wants the friendship of a demon, a Siren least of all, and maybe she was foolish enough to interpret his kindness as friendship. She'd forgotten that deep down, he fears her and what she can do. Even now, he doesn't trust her. And why should he, when she'd made it clear that their contract was the only thing keeping her from turning her magic on him?
And as much as she hates herself for even comparing Peter to him at all, at least Sophis had made it abundantly clear that he had never wanted to be her friend in the first place.
For the first time since she'd been freed from the relic, she suddenly feels very alone. Her eyes flick down to her work, fingers flexing around the hilt of the knife. ]
I understand. [ she keeps her tone neutral, uninterested. ] Get some rest.
[ At the very least, he wasn't lying when he said he was tired; still, he tries to stave it off as long as possible, tries to puzzle out the weird feelings floating in his head, thoughts like weakness and hated and useless and friendship.
He feels his lids dropping as he's examining the cracks in the cave wall, and after a few moments his breathing evens out as sleep pulls him down like an undercurrent. ]
[ She finishes her work with the rabbit by the time he drops off, and figures she may as well have it cooked and ready for him when he wakes.
As the night wears on, she still works on healing him in increments- it wouldn't do to stretch herself thin, but she wants to make sure he's okay. They still have an agreement, after all.
She tries not to dwell on their conversation, tries not to watch him as he sleeps and wonder just how she misjudged this so badly. She tries not to wonder what it would be like if he'd never found her at all.
She doesn't succeed, but she tries all the same.
Sunrise finds her just outside of their hiding place, sitting in quiet contemplation in the early morning light. She needs some space, but she doesn't want to leave him totally unguarded. This was the best compromise she could think of. ]
His mother was frequently ill, he remembers that, but she always smiled, even in her worst moments. He was eight years old when he knelt beside her bed, wiping her brow with a damp cloth. Her labored breathing was the only sound in the room.
She pressed something into his hands, her skin feverishly hot against his, made him promise to never part with it. He made to ask her why it mattered and why she was giving it to him, only there were suddenly screams outside and the noise of clashing metal.
The Ravagers had come.
The two of them huddled in their home, and Peter prayed to every god he knew to please, keep them safe, please, please, please. But the gods weren't listening, and a Ravager kicked down their door.
Peter wrenched himself out of his mother's weakened grasp, pushed her behind him (protect her, save her, help her); he lifted a knife in his small hands, screamed at the man to leave them alone. At first the man only smiled a wicked grin, his mouth filled with crooked, sharp teeth, and then he pursed his lips, whistling some sort of jaunty tune. Peter was so confused that he didn't see the flash of movement, couldn't shove his mother out of the way, didn't notice the magicked arrow until he heard his mother suddenly gurgling behind him, and then he was screaming.
He wakes with a start and a strangled gasp (somehow, he's learned to wake quietly from those dreams; it doesn't do to show weakness among Ravagers) and tries to control his breathing.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to remember where he is, why he's there, and for a while he just stares blankly at the cavern's ceiling. The pain has ebbed, and the pounding in his head has faded to a dull ache. He still feels stiff, though, still a little tender, but well enough to venture sitting up -- which he manages to do with a little difficulty, and he takes his victories where he can get them.
He worries a little when he doesn't see Maya, and he remembers-- no, he thinks he might have laid himself bare in a way, came just shy of admitting how weak and useless he was, what a liability he had become for her. He does remember her denial of his insecurities, though, remembers how convincing she had sounded, remembers how close he had come to believing it.
Stupid, he thinks, and he rubs his eyes to ward away his exhaustion. She felt indebted. She felt obligated. She was being kind.
And look how he had thanked her for her kindness: ignored her, turned away, went to sleep, because of his body's weakness and his own weakness and maybe the Ravagers had it right the first time when they threatened to eat him.
He spots her, then, silhouetted at the mouth of the cave by the first few rays of dawn. It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to brace himself against the rough stone wall, pushes himself to stand. He uses the wall as a crutch as he moves to join her at the entrance.
Once there, though, words escape him, and he just stands there at the mouth of the den, one arm curling around his waist protectively.
Eventually, all he manages is a quiet, croaked, ] Morning.
[ He actually manages to startle her. She jumps slightly, cheeks going red when she realizes how lost she'd been in her own thoughts, and how he'd caught her off-guard.
She clears her throat, schooling her expression into something impassive ]
Are you sure you should be moving around like that?
[ He notices her surprise, but the only indication that he does is a slight frown. He wipes it from his face, though, and tries for a reassuring smile -- which, naturally, he belies with his next reply. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Nah, it's nothin'. Had worse.
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You're lucky to be alive.
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He turns his head away a little, chagrined, and swallows thickly. ]
... Sorry. I-- [ He exhales slowly. ] ... sorry.
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Why did you push me out of the way?
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... You were in trouble. [ He says it slowly, but after a beat of silence, it's clear that it's the only answer he has to offer. ]
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[ again, she falls quiet, eyes searching his face. She doesn't look angry, just contemplative. Maybe a little hesitant. ]
... No one has ever done that for me before.
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[ He can't help it -- he smirks a little. ]
Well. Never been struck by lightning 'fore.
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[ she glances down at his chest, at the angry red marks that her magic did nothing to diminish. ] You're going to carry that for a while.
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Nice story, at least. "Got stupid, tried protectin' a Siren."
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It was stupid and ill-advised, but I appreciate the gesture.
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Stupid's what I do.
[ He shifts, trying to get more comfortable, but a thought occurs to him. ]
Guy taken care of?
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... I caught a rabbit earlier. Are you hungry?
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He thinks he should probably eat something, so he just nods. Then after a second, ] We have any water?
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If there's anything else you need, please let me know.
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... 'M sorry. Not much help, am I?
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What makes you say that?
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Must be really regrettin' this contract, huh? Glorified nursemaid.
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You have only ever treated me as a person, as a partner, and I wouldn't trade that for anything- in your world or mine. Don't think that I regret having met you when hours ago I was terrified of losing you.
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He doesn't believe her, and he feels a twinge of bitterness at the realization -- because for a second, he wanted to. He likes Maya, really likes her, considers her a friend when he hasn't had a real one since he was a child. He was stupid enough to take a blow meant for her, and something in his gut sinks when he thinks that if he had to repeat the day, he'd do it again. He doesn't want to see her hurt.
But why should she feel the same about him? The closest thing he has to a family anymore is the Ravagers, and none of them would shed a tear if he was lost, would in fact divvy out what paltry belongings he had left behind, if they hadn't done so already. And Maya is under an obligation to him; she has to protect him because of their contract, and she's a Siren, leads men to their doom--
-- No, no, that's the Ravager voice, and Peter needs to stop listening to it.
He doesn't know if it's the way his head is throbbing in time with his heartbeat or if it's the all-encompassing ache of his body that has scrambled his thoughts, but obviously he's not thinking clearly right now. ]
... Tired. [ He digs the heels of his palms into his temples. It's a ridiculous cop-out, and he knows it, but he can't deal with this right now, and he shifts slightly away from her. ] Sorry, just-- tired.
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No one wants the friendship of a demon, a Siren least of all, and maybe she was foolish enough to interpret his kindness as friendship. She'd forgotten that deep down, he fears her and what she can do. Even now, he doesn't trust her. And why should he, when she'd made it clear that their contract was the only thing keeping her from turning her magic on him?
And as much as she hates herself for even comparing Peter to him at all, at least Sophis had made it abundantly clear that he had never wanted to be her friend in the first place.
For the first time since she'd been freed from the relic, she suddenly feels very alone. Her eyes flick down to her work, fingers flexing around the hilt of the knife. ]
I understand. [ she keeps her tone neutral, uninterested. ] Get some rest.
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He feels his lids dropping as he's examining the cracks in the cave wall, and after a few moments his breathing evens out as sleep pulls him down like an undercurrent. ]
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As the night wears on, she still works on healing him in increments- it wouldn't do to stretch herself thin, but she wants to make sure he's okay. They still have an agreement, after all.
She tries not to dwell on their conversation, tries not to watch him as he sleeps and wonder just how she misjudged this so badly. She tries not to wonder what it would be like if he'd never found her at all.
She doesn't succeed, but she tries all the same.
Sunrise finds her just outside of their hiding place, sitting in quiet contemplation in the early morning light. She needs some space, but she doesn't want to leave him totally unguarded. This was the best compromise she could think of. ]
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His mother was frequently ill, he remembers that, but she always smiled, even in her worst moments. He was eight years old when he knelt beside her bed, wiping her brow with a damp cloth. Her labored breathing was the only sound in the room.
She pressed something into his hands, her skin feverishly hot against his, made him promise to never part with it. He made to ask her why it mattered and why she was giving it to him, only there were suddenly screams outside and the noise of clashing metal.
The Ravagers had come.
The two of them huddled in their home, and Peter prayed to every god he knew to please, keep them safe, please, please, please. But the gods weren't listening, and a Ravager kicked down their door.
Peter wrenched himself out of his mother's weakened grasp, pushed her behind him (protect her, save her, help her); he lifted a knife in his small hands, screamed at the man to leave them alone. At first the man only smiled a wicked grin, his mouth filled with crooked, sharp teeth, and then he pursed his lips, whistling some sort of jaunty tune. Peter was so confused that he didn't see the flash of movement, couldn't shove his mother out of the way, didn't notice the magicked arrow until he heard his mother suddenly gurgling behind him, and then he was screaming.
He wakes with a start and a strangled gasp (somehow, he's learned to wake quietly from those dreams; it doesn't do to show weakness among Ravagers) and tries to control his breathing.
It takes him longer than he'd like to admit to remember where he is, why he's there, and for a while he just stares blankly at the cavern's ceiling. The pain has ebbed, and the pounding in his head has faded to a dull ache. He still feels stiff, though, still a little tender, but well enough to venture sitting up -- which he manages to do with a little difficulty, and he takes his victories where he can get them.
He worries a little when he doesn't see Maya, and he remembers-- no, he thinks he might have laid himself bare in a way, came just shy of admitting how weak and useless he was, what a liability he had become for her. He does remember her denial of his insecurities, though, remembers how convincing she had sounded, remembers how close he had come to believing it.
Stupid, he thinks, and he rubs his eyes to ward away his exhaustion. She felt indebted. She felt obligated. She was being kind.
And look how he had thanked her for her kindness: ignored her, turned away, went to sleep, because of his body's weakness and his own weakness and maybe the Ravagers had it right the first time when they threatened to eat him.
He spots her, then, silhouetted at the mouth of the cave by the first few rays of dawn. It takes some maneuvering, but he manages to brace himself against the rough stone wall, pushes himself to stand. He uses the wall as a crutch as he moves to join her at the entrance.
Once there, though, words escape him, and he just stands there at the mouth of the den, one arm curling around his waist protectively.
Eventually, all he manages is a quiet, croaked, ] Morning.
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She clears her throat, schooling her expression into something impassive ]
Are you sure you should be moving around like that?
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I have no idea. You're the healer, here.
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