His expression said absolutely not.
“If it’s clear, I’ll help you leave. Get you clothes that fit, supplies, whatever you need. But if there’s a skull fracture...” Hospital. The word hung unspoken between us.
Sharp refusal. Immediate.
The movement made him wince. Hand flying to his temple, pressing hard.
Headache. Again.
I’d noticed them. The way he’d squeeze his eyes shut briefly, the tension in his jaw, fingers touching the wound site like he could push the pain back inside.
“How bad?” I held up my hand, fingers spread. “Rate it. One to ten.”
He stared at my hand. Then held up five fingers. Paused. Added another.
Six. Bad enough.
“Light sensitivity?”
Slight nod. Reluctant admission.
My stomach tightened. Not good. Really not good.
“That gash goes deep. I glued it shut but I couldn’t see how far the damage went. Could be nothing. Could be a hairline fracture. Could be bleeding inside your skull that’ll kill you in your sleep.”
Stark. Brutal. But he needed to understand.
“One X-ray. Twenty minutes, maybe thirty. Then you can make informed decisions about whether you want to die.”
Narrowed gaze.
“I’m serious. You walk out right now, you’ll collapse within two blocks. Then police find you. Then we both go down for this.”
Selfish argument. But effective.
Something shifted in his expression. Not agreement. Just consideration.
“The clinic is quiet. Off the main roads. No cameras inside. No one will know you were there.”
Another headache pulse visibly behind his features. His fingers pressed to his temple, jaw clenching.
Proof. Right there. His body proving my point better than words could.
“You want to leave? I get it.” Gentler now. “But first, let me make sure you’re not walking out there with a ticking time bomb in your skull.”
The argument stretched between us. His stubborn determination versus my stubborn refusal to let him die.
We’ll both lose this fight, my rational brain supplied helpfully. He’ll leave and collapse. Or stay and get caught. Either way, this ends badly.
Shoved it down. Focused on Xavier.
“Please.”
The word came rough. Honest.
He searched my face. Looking for manipulation, for a trap, for anything except what was actually there, genuine concern. Fear for him disguised as practicality.
Finally. One nod. Single. Reluctant.
