Behind him, Felipe released a huff of exasperation, and when Oliver looked up to see what was wrong, his gaze snagged onto the headline splashed across the front page ofThe Society Chronicle: “Two Killed in Bazaar Attack!” Oliver’s throat tightened as he skimmed the beginning of the article. Dozens wounded, two dead, attackers at large, the Paranormal Society on the case, the proposed orphanage’s future in question. Mrs. Cutler had been described as alive but in need of extensive medical care with a long recovery ahead of her. Oliver spottedIvy Jones’s statement on what happened and broke away before he could read anything that even hinted at his or Felipe’s involvement.
Oliver’s attention trailed to the mortuary cabinet where Enoch Whitley’s body still resided. He hoped he was wrong, but attacking an old man with an obsession for magical knowledge and a woman who wanted to build an orphanage to help magical children sent a clear message. Enoch had been a warning shot, and attacking Mrs. Cutler and everyone at the event had been a major escalation. Head Inspector Williams hadn’t taken them seriously before when they told him there was a real threat against the society, but now, he had to, especially with everyone watching. Anger and exhaustion burned brightly in Oliver’s breast. None of this had to happen. Perhaps, they wouldn’t have been able to prevent it even if the head inspector had been more proactive, but they should have at least tried.
A flash of concern flickered across the tether as Felipe’s eyes found Oliver’s. For a horrible second, Felipe looked worried, and Oliver realized Felipe feared he was mad at him. He had been upstairs, but under the bright lights of the laboratory, that anger had cooled to concern. When Felipe had been shot and stabbed in Aldorhaven, it had taken him a few days to fully heal, but he hadn’t looked nearly as careworn or haunted. The gauze around his fingers had come partly undone to reveal deep wounds, and his movements had slowed with pain and fatigue. Oliver wasn’t always the best judge of other’s emotions or thoughts, but he was certain the wounds weren’t the only things weighing on Felipe’s body and mind. He had taken pains to make sure Oliver was safe and well cared for, and more than anything, Oliver wanted to return the favor.
As Oliver stepped closer, Felipe set the newspaper down on the counter. Something must have shown on his face because Felipe silently raised a brow in question in time with icyuncertainty slipping along the tether. Careful to avoid his left arm, Oliver gathered his partner into a tight embrace. Felipe stiffed, then sagged against him in relief, pressing his face against Oliver’s chest as the taller man kissed his temple and shut his eyes. He tightened his uninjured arm around Oliver, and for a long moment, they stood together in the silence of the lab.
“Come shower with me,” Oliver whispered into Felipe’s curls. “The food will be down by the time we’re done, and then, we can talk.”
“About?” Felipe asked, his voice tight.
“This,” he replied softly, his thumb grazing the bandages as he gingerly took his hand. “And maybe the things you’ve been keeping in here.”
Felipe stared at Oliver’s hand lingering over his heart as a storm of fear and far murkier emotions thrummed through his breast. Oliver feared he would say no, but after a moment, Felipe drew in an unsteady breath and nodded without meeting his gaze. Taking Felipe’s uninjured arm, Oliver gently led him down the hall to the shower. Up close, the dark circles under his eyes looked even worse, and the tremor in his hand was growing more obvious with every passing minute. Oliver grabbed the stool nearest the hall and urged Felipe onto it.
“Oliver, you don’t have to do this. You just got out of the infirmary. You’re supposed to be resting. I can do it,” Felipe said, his voice pained as Oliver pressed him again to sit.
“I’m not taxing myself. I’m taking care of you as you’ve done for me so many times before.” Oliver swallowed hard at the growing tension in his partner’s features. “You told me once that loving me isn’t work and that you aren’t stuck with me. I want to make it clear that loving you and caring for you is never work. It isn’t burdensome.Yourneeds aren’t burdensome, Felipe.”
Felipe opened his mouth to protest, but Oliver snuffed the words out with a kiss. Pulling back, Oliver ran his thumb along the stubble lining his jaw. “I want to do this for you. Please let me.”
The tether tightened beneath Oliver’s heart as he locked eyes with Felipe. In their amber depths, he saw everything he held dear and a love he never thought possible.Please, Oliver silently urged,just let me in. Threads of grey tangled into the tether, twisting away before Oliver could get a hold on them, but with a shudder, Felipe sank onto the stool. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, Oliver kissed him again before turning on the shower to let it come to temperature. He ducked into their bedroom to gather everything they needed. Fatigue still tugged at Oliver’s limb, but it felt more from disuse than anything else. He hoped moving would help, and so far, it hadn’t made the ache in his chest any worse. Arranging the pile of clothes and towels along with his medical bag on a crate near the shower, Oliver watched Felipe from the corner of his eye. He held his injured arm close with his mouth set in a grim line and his posture far too straight. Oliver half expected to find a knife in his hand, especially with the hollow, haunted look in his gaze. When Felipe finally turned to face Oliver, he seemed almost wary.
“The shower should be warm enough now,” Oliver said as cheerfully as he could muster.
A clot of shame sluiced through Oliver’s chest as Felipe pushed to his feet. Oliver couldn’t understand it. Felipe had been glued to his bedside for days until he came to, and he had saved countless people at the bazaar. What reason could he have to be ashamed? Oliver wondered if maybe the shame came from the pain and his burns making it hard to move, so he reached for Felipe’s jacket to help him take it off. As he carefully lifted it off his shoulders and guided it down his arms, Felipe forced his expression flat, but the growing tempest on the tether betrayedhim. Arousal but colder? Some flavor of fear? Oliver couldn’t tell, but when he brushed the buttons of Felipe’s waistcoat, Felipe leapt to his feet.
“I can do it,” he snapped, turning away to undo his buttons with shaking hands. Oliver bit down a pang of hurt, but he knew it wasn’t really about him. Whatever Felipe was grappling with, it didn’t have to do with him. Oliver stepped back to give Felipe space as he removed his own clothing until all that stood between him and the chilly laboratory were his drawers. Gooseflesh rose on Oliver’s skin even with the radiators hissing along the walls and the shower steaming in the corridor. More than anything, he wanted to wrap his body around Felipe’s to shield him from the cold, but he doubted he would let him right now.
When Felipe finally pulled off his shirt and trousers and tossed them aside, a new chill washed over Oliver. Bile rose in his throat at the sight of the burns all down his partner’s body. The skin from his legs to his abdomen was covered in shiny, pink patches where the accursed spray had grazed him and melted away the hair and top layers of flesh, but his left arm had taken the worst of it. Even with the bandages on, Oliver could see the places on his arm where blisters had formed and burst, leaving bloody, beige stains behind. His fingers were crusty with red and brown mottled skin caked in black where the tissue had died. Felipe shucked the loose bandages from his fingers and unraveled them down the length of his arm. He had gotten the gauze most of the way off when he tugged and grimaced. A surge of frustration and something hotter ran through the tether, but Oliver gave Felipe’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he could rip the fabric off.
“Don’t pull it. It’ll hurt less if we loosen it in the shower. Let me fix it for you.”
With the scissors from his gladstone, Oliver clipped the bandage at the edge of the wound and carefully peeled away the rest of the loose fabric. He swallowed hard at the places where Felipe’s skin had been eaten away to reveal the aperture underneath. Anyone else would have been in agony.Or dead, a little voice said. And Felipe had been in that state for days.
“Felipe, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to. I can take mine after.”
“No, I do. I want to be with you,” he said barely above a whisper without meeting Oliver’s eyes. “I just… I know it’s going to hurt, and I don’t think I can keep it together if it does.”
“No one is expecting you to keep it together, Felipe. I can’t promise cleaning it will be painless, but I promise I’ll do my best to make it hurt less and hold you if you need me to.”
Fear radiated off Felipe like a miasma as he stared at the steaming shower, but with a clench of his jaw, Felipe stepped toward the water. Grabbing the stool, Oliver wheeled it into the shower despite Felipe’s protests about rust. Stools were replaceable, and it would be far easier if he could sit comfortably. Oliver carefully arranged Felipe at the edge of the shower cubicle, so his injured arm was angled away from the spray. For good measure, he loosely draped a towel over it before lathering the washcloth. Oliver ran it over the familiar terrain of Felipe’s body. He knew every curve and muscle, every place that tickled or ached to be touched, and up close, the pain echoing through Felipe’s form was evident. Oliver couldn’t imagine how exhausted he must be. Even sitting on the stool, he leaned against the shower stall for support while Oliver kneaded shampoo through his partner’s hair. When the water hit his scalded legs, his toes curled and the muscles of his thighs reflexively tightened. Oliver gave Felipe a moment to collect himself as he quickly washed away the grime from his time in theinfirmary. By the time Oliver finished cleaning himself, Felipe looked equally resigned to his fate and ready to bolt.
“I promise I’ll be as efficient and gentle as I can,” Oliver said as he grabbed a clean cloth, “but you have to let me clean your arm. It’s starting to smell.”
Drawing in a bracing breath, Felipe yanked the towel from his arm and turned toward the shower head. Oliver dialed the temperature down and lathered the new cloth with soap. Starting from his shoulder, Oliver worked his way down Felipe’s arm. The skin was raw like a bad sunburn at the top and slid rapidly into devastation. At first, Oliver thought Felipe would continue to stoically push through the pain, but as he swiped the soapy cloth over his mottled and weeping skin, Felipe twitched beneath his hand. Oliver tried to move quickly without hurting him. Unfortunately, that proved to be impossible when his whole arm was an open wound. When he reached the embedded piece of gauze, it took running water and several minutes of careful picking to get it out. By the end of it, Felipe’s whole body trembled with pain.
“Keep going,” Felipe demanded, screwing his eyes shut and sucking in a breath through clenched teeth when Oliver paused to let him catch his breath. “It hurts more when you stop.”
Oliver didn’t necessarily believe him, but he did as he asked. Blisters and dead, blackened skin littered the rest of Felipe’s arm. Oliver had seen many things in his years as a medical examiner; he had never seen burns this bad on a living person. Drawing in a long, slow breath, Oliver tried to distance himself from Felipe’s familiar form until it was just a body beneath his hand. Once again, he was seeing parts of Felipe no one was ever meant to see, and every glimpse was a horrid reminder of his partner’s mortality and his god-like power. As Oliver gingerly held Felipe’s wrist and sloughed away the dead tissue clinging to his fingers, Felipe brought his other hand to his mouth to mufflea noise between a sob and a groan. The two men stared at each other as another cry broke from Felipe’s lips unbidden. Neither moved, neither said a word. There was nothing to do or say that could stop them, except to finish.
“Don’t stop,” Felipe urged between wet, shaky breaths. And Oliver didn’t. He moved methodically from finger to finger, carefully removing dying skin and popping blisters that would hinder movement. When he saw a flash of white through Felipe’s damaged flesh, Oliver told himself he hadn’t. If he thought about it too hard, he would break, and Felipe needed him. As Oliver worked, Felipe wept, a quiet, desolate sound that pulled sympathetic tears to Oliver’s eyes and a stream of apologies to his lips. The moment he finished, Oliver rinsed the wound one final time, shut off the tap, and quickly bundled Felipe into a towel, so he could grab their clothes. A shiver ran down Oliver’s spine from the sudden cold as he scrambled to dry off and throw his pajamas on, but Oliver’s blood ran cold at the hushed, tremulous cries coming from the shower stall. Felipe was in agony, and Oliver had caused it. Oliver bit his lip hard enough to push back the sympathetic tears. Do no harm meant cleaning away the dead skin and dried fluids before they festered, even if it hurt, Oliver reminded himself, and he had to hold it together for Felipe.
When Oliver came around the cubicle, Felipe sat on the stool with his head in his hand, looking more wrung out than ever before. Even injured, Oliver had never seen him completely without his usual bravado, but that had been stripped away. In his place was a man Oliver wasn’t sure he had ever met. He had glimpsed him in wary glances at marigolds or behind Felipe’s eyes when he mentioned Señor Quintero. Somewhere inside of him was a Felipe who had never been allowed to grow, and Oliver wanted him to feel safe enough to try. He moved quietly and carefully as he ran a towel over Felipe’s curls and buffedhis skin until he was dry enough to put his pajama bottoms on. Felipe sat so still through it all that Oliver feared he might be going into shock. Draping the bathrobe over Felipe’s shoulders, Oliver half-carried him into the warmth of their bedroom.
With the waning sun painting the room in dreamy purple and pink shadows, nothing felt real: the attack at the bazaar, the dying woman, waking up like Sleeping Beauty only to debride Felipe’s burns, the prints of crustaceans that survived it all. Laying out the things he would need to disinfect and rewrap Felipe’s arm, Oliver still expected to wake up and find it had all been a dream, but the ache in his chest as he knelt on the rug at Felipe’s feet and the red, inflamed skin on his partner’s arm were all too real. Oliver glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Dinner would arrive soon, if it hadn’t already, and he needed to hurry. He carefully dabbed the spots that looked the sorest or deepest before slathering the raw surface of Felipe’s arm and hand with Vaseline to keep the gauze from sticking. Felipe’s red-rimmed gaze followed his every movement as the tempestuous greyness built anew on the other side of the tether, but still he said nothing.
As Oliver wrapped gauze around each of Felipe’s fingers, he still couldn’t understand how all of this happened. After two days, his tissue should have healed more. Felipe should have eaten, but he hadn’t. He should have slept, but Oliver suspected he hadn’t. Even if he hadn’t wanted to leave Oliver’s side, there had to have been a way to eat and sleep that would have let his body heal. The anger from the infirmary flared to life again in Oliver’s breast that the person who had hurt Felipe and the man he loved were one in the same. Oliver had asked him months ago not to go falling on the nearest sword when he didn’t have to, but he had done it again, albeit indirectly. Oliver didn’t blame Felipe for sticking his hand into the caustic tide to stop whatevercaused it. What he didn’t understand was why he seemed to purposely prolong the agony.
