faderift | CLOSED | She said, "Where'd you wanna go? How much you wanna risk?"

A breath, held and let out as Ellie finishes speaking.

Briefly thinking back to other conversations with them both, trying to suss out the lines of the fracture between them. Trusting them both when they described a truce.

But anger doesn't come. Disappointment, maybe, creasing her expression. Worry too, stirring up as she looks at Ellie and sees all these wounds. Who is tending to Abby? Derrica has no doubt that she has just as many injuries as Ellie.

One thing at a time.

"Let me see," is what she settles on, fingers very light at Ellie's jaw. Underscoring the order. "Tip your head back."

To stem the bleeding. Give her opportunity to assess exactly how serious the injuries are before she goes to work on them.

It's all kind of disintegrated into fuzzy white noise at the edges, but underneath, Ellie feels remarkably calm. The numbness before so many things set in.

She's going to wake up bruised tomorrow in more ways than one.

Ellie shuts her eyes as she obeys. Derrica's investigations reveal something similar to last time this happened, so long ago now. A fractured cheekbone, a broken nose. Two brewing black eyes. A bruised jaw and a lip split in several places.

Worse is her left collarbone. A crushing, precise blow must have nearly snapped it in two, but the pattern of the bruising reveals that Ellie worsened it considerably, really took it from a fracture to a break by continuing to fight past it, ignoring the pain.

The other bruises are surface damage, minor compared to that, but littered across her body.

Of the two of them, Ellie's worse off- but there's no evidence of weapons. No magic. That's different from last time.

A very gentle inspection follows. Light fingers setting here and there, marking breaks and bruises, swelling discolorations.

"I'm going to take this off," comes very softly too, as Derrica reaches down for Ellie's hem. "Just breathe."

Not because Derrica intends to lift the tunic up and off.

She splits a seam at Ellie's shoulder. Begins tearing the fabric apart, inch by careful inch.

How gentle she is hurts almost more than the broken bones.

Ellie breathes. Prepares herself to lift her arms, to get her shirt off -- but doesn't. Her eyes open, flickering a moment before they focus on Derrica's face. She flushes, just barely, but doesn't think to protest. It had to be off regardless.

Underneath the tunic, Ellie's wearing nothing at all, and her body's a mess of bruises, the kind that happen in a brawl. Thankfully her ribs are just tender and not broken. Again, there's no signs of a blade or other weapon. Small mercies.

She's going to be a grotesque nebula of bruises as she heals.

Ellie doesn't attempt to joke, or explain, or even to say anything at all.

Edited 2022-09-14 03:12 (UTC)

At first glance, the stretch of injury simply looks awful. Candlelight casts shadows, accentuates all the dark-smudged bruises and old scars. No, there is no sign of a blade. It's a small reprieve.

Derrica breathes out, slowly.

"I'm going to touch you," she warns, offering up opportunity as much as a moment for Ellie to brace herself.

Ellie hasn't flinched from her in ages, but this isn't exactly ordinary circumstances. And things have shifted somewhat between them now. Enough so that Derrica is careful when she begins mapping the injuries with her fingertips, feeling for breaks and tenderness across Ellie's skin.

Ellie doesn't flinch from her touch anymore, but she knows better than to conceal her hurts from someone trying to patch her up.

There's no being brave with a healer.

Ellie's taken a lot of punishment and pain in her life, but there are changes in her breathing when Derrica maps out the breaks with her fingertips. Small indrawn breaths, shiver that gets stuck in her throat.

Finally, her collarbone. It's slight, but the tiny, hurt noise that Ellie makes in the back of her throat might as well be a scream. Now that all of the adrenaline's worn off, the pain has her sick to her stomach, feeling clammy with shock.

It hasn't been a good night.

Hadn't they circled the idea of doing this in such vastly different circumstances? As clinical and careful as Derrica is being now, she has enough space for a fleeting thought to their last conversation in her office before all comes circling back to Ellie's bruise-mottled skin under her fingers.

She lays her palm over Ellie's collarbone. Just covering, not applying pressure. Drawing up threads of her ability while memories of similar injury swirl up to meet her: Holden catching her up in his arms, pulling her into that tent all those months ago. Richard forcing broken bones into alignment before soldering her back together.

"Is Abby just as hurt as you?"

A more neutral beginning question than the first one that had come to mind.

Ellie's expression stills, settles as Derrica picks out the worst hurt, lays her hand over it. How many times has she witnessed a new scar? She remembers Derrica's shoulder, the careful way she made sure not to raise her arms too high. The help she'd needed with her hair. Ellie's excuse to stay off her badly burned foot.

"No," she breathes, letting the air out of her chest. She takes her time drawing it in again, sloughing the pain off as best she can. Deep, calming breaths to get her heart rate normal again. It's hammering in her chest, her skin clammy and pale.

"She's got a black eye. Some scratches. A lot of bruises. I might have cracked one of her ribs but I don't think so."

For a second, there's a pinch around her eyes, the anger and grief giving way to something that looks like a cousin of worry.

"Someone should check on her, though."

"One of us will," is only a step away from I will.

And Derrica will look in on Abby. It's just a question of whether that happens tonight, or tomorrow morning.

"I'll mend this," she continues, with a stroke of her thumb along Ellie's clavicle to specify her intent. "I have elfroot that will ease the bruises."

She's spent so much of her capability in the clinic. It had left her so little. If this had happened in the morning, it would be different, but now—

"Was it worth it? All of this?"

Ellie opens her mouth to thank her, but it seems perverse, and the words die on her tongue. I'm sorry seems more apt, but Derrica's not the person she should be apologizing to.

The gentle stroke aches, and Ellie just breathes. It doesn't hurt nearly as much as the question.

She manages not to flinch, but just barely. It's been a bad night, her thoughts spinning out of control, feeling fractured.

"No," she says, and the word aches through her throat. Thick and wrong. She keeps thinking of Abby catching her wrist, holding her, stopping her from hurting herself worse. Keeps seeing the heartbreak, the aftershocks of the terror and grief.

"I don't think it was ever worth it."

There is some relief in hearing Ellie come to this conclusion. Relief and—

Some other, miserable emotion. Frustration, maybe. All this injury and Ellie has nothing from it. No satisfaction, just pain. Derrica knows objectively that the realization is of some benefit, but months ago, the last time she'd patched Ellie back together, she'd thought they'd arrived at that conclusion.

Will Ellie have to do this again? Will she have to deal out pain and receive it once more to come to this determination?

Derrica bites the inside of her cheek. Stays quiet for a long moment as her fingers flex absently over Ellie's skin.

"Is this the last time?"

It's a fair question. This one, Ellie would flinch from, if she hadn't been asking it of herself in the blur of time between then and now. She hadn't thought that she would do this again.

"I thought back then was the last time," she says, and some of that frustration leaks out, that horrible anger- but this time the anger sounds like the flimsy shield for what it really is. Guilt, grief, and self-disgust.

Ellie has the urge to shove Derrica away, then, the awful sickly urge she'd felt in the farmhouse kitchen in the false light of dawn-

But these are Derrica's eyes, not Dina's soft, stricken deep brown, and Ellie chokes back the feelings that threaten to swell up. This is different.

She is different.

"I don't-" she pauses, takes a deep breath under the light, gentle touch of Derrica's hand.

"I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to do this to myself anymore."

This feels sincere, though Derrica isn't certain of what to do with this answer.

Will this be the sort of sentiment that wanes in the sunlight? Once all these wounds are healed, will this resolve hold?

It feels cruel to express such cutting doubts, no matter what Derrica might feel in the moment. Cruel, when Ellie is so covered in bruises, when Derrica can feel the fractured bone beneath her palm.

"I won't ask you to promise me anything," Derrica says instead. "I don't think it's something you'll be able to change for anyone but yourself."

And Ellie doesn't need any added guilt, any pressure to exacerbate any future slip. A cool wash of green light pulls forth from her palm. The flex of power prickles, casts a frost over Ellie's skin. It eases the pain. It knits the fracture.

"But I don't want to do this again."

Ellie can tell that Derrica doesn't believe her, and she sits with that knowledge as the cool touch of her magic does its work.

Fuck, it shouldn't hurt so bad. But really, what has she ever done to give her that faith?

"I won't put you in that position," Ellie says, very quietly. She doesn't meet her eyes, but it still wells up in the back of her throat, and she swallows it back down.

"I fucked up," she says pushing the words out. "And- I'm sorry. To you and-"

Another deep breath.

"And to her."

Ellie's voice cracks. There's more, there's so much more, but this isn't the time or the place to let herself feel it.

"I'll never turn you away," feels necessary, even in the wake of a short beat of quiet as those apologies land. "I would never refuse to help you."

Something that must be clear. The idea of Ellie avoiding her, sitting with injuries—

"I just want you to find a way to make it true, what you've said. That this is the last time."

With the cool spread of her magic fading, Derrica's hand lifts to Ellie's face. Cups her cheek.

"Can you make things right with her?" is put very gently, Derrica's eyes searching Ellie's face.

Ellie knew she wouldn't, but it's still a relief to hear, that old irrational feeling of alone, alone that thankfully Derrica knows to set right. Yes, she understands. It's never the helping Derrica doesn't want to deal with. It's that the wounds happen at all.

Her hand feels better on her hot cheek than the ebbing of the pain in her collarbone did. Ellie lays her hand over hers, silently letting her know that she appreciates the reassurance, and the tightness in her shoulders eases. It comes back again presently when she thinks of Abby.

"She doesn't want to talk to me right now," Ellie says, finally looking up. Her eyes are wet and a touch red, but no tears falling, thankfully.

"But if that changes. I'll tell her."

Things may never be right with Abby, but they can be different. They... are different, Ellie realizes, with a numb ache. She's worried about her.

"She's not doing so hot right now."

"I'll check on her."

What Derrica will tell her is a far more complicated thing to consider. It isn't for Derrica to tell Abby any part of what she's seen from Ellie, what Ellie has said tonight.

Ellie's red eyes, the returning tension in her body, that's all more than enough reason to change the subject. Derrica's fingers smooth across Ellie's cheek, small motions to avoid dislodging Ellie's hand over hers.

"I can get some water," Derrica says, softer. "We can clean your face. And you can stay tonight, if you like."

"You don't have to do that," Ellie mutters, a touch raw as she sets her jaw, but it's clear the offer's touching, not offensive.

She appreciates being taken care of. Is ashamed and angry with herself that she's gone and made it necessary.

It would be harder, if this were the first time she'd fallen asleep next to Derrica, but it's not. Not by several times over. And she knows that if she's alone tonight, she won't sleep at all.

"I know I don't."

Because as unsettled and complicated as they have made this part of their relationship, Derrica knows that Ellie didn't come here with any expectation. She came because Derrica is safe, someone trusted. If Derrica asked her to leave, she would.

That matters.

Her fingers skim lightly over Ellie's cheek before she gets up to retrieve the water jug from where it had been set on the windowsill, the strips of white linen that will make due in the moment to clear the blood from Ellie's face.

"I can take care of this too," Derrica tells her. "I just want to be able to get a better feel for what's hurt here."

Whether all this swelling on Ellie's face means something's broken, or just badly bruised.

Ellie manages a nod, eases herself back on her bed. Her shoulder still aches, but it's well-blunted, and it won't be an issue unless she strains it again.

"Thanks."

Slowly, she tucks her feet up, lets all of the air out of her lungs. Her nose had stopped bleeding, but she genuinely can't tell if it was broken or not. Two brewing back eyes, a badly split lip, jaw and cheekbone aching and swollen, a bad knot on the back of her head where Abby laid her flat.

"I think it's mostly just the bruises. I felt something snap but. I'm not sure where."

"You're going to have to go easy for a few days," Derrica cautions.

They are brutal with each other, Ellie and Abby. Derrica can understand why, but there is something to be said for two people who know just how to hurt each other this way.

She can only hope Abby has found her way to the infirmary. Or to someone who can tend to her too. There is a twinge of guilt for that, of being unable to be in both places at once, minister to each of them. She is choosing, she knows. Choosing to stay the night with Ellie, and waiting until morning to find her way to Abby.

Derrica breathes out, applies the damp cloth to the crusted blood around Ellie's nose.

"Are you going to be able to sleep?"

Edited (late night tagging consequences) 2022-10-17 06:10 (UTC)

Ellie nods. She thinks of promising to be gentle, but in all honesty it's not something that she's going to be able to keep. She knows herself. There will always been something that she decides is more important.

(It was like this with her goddamn foot, too. It's a wonder that Derrica puts up with her.)

"I'll try," she settles on, exhales through her mouth as Derrica puts gentle pressure on her nose. Fuck, but that hurts. Her brow pinches, then relaxes at the coolness of it. Even if it hurts, it does feel good.

"On both counts. It's better when I'm not alone, mostly." She opens her eyes looks up at Derrica, manages not to wince at the cleaning. She's aware that Derrica's chosen to stay, knows how thin she's stretched. Even if she found Abby now she might not be able to help much other than talking.

It hits again, the aftershocks. Would Abby even let her? Would she let anyone?

"Are you? Going to be able to sleep?"

"I think so," she answers, then clarifies, "I sleep better with other people around me too."

Which sounds better than alongside someone else. She is aware of her own reputation, how it skews the meaning.

She was raised in Dairsmuid in rooms full of apprentices, then rooms full of mages and Enchanters. She traveled in the holds of ships, her hammock strung alongside dozens of others. The Gallows is the first and only place she's ever been where she can close a door between herself and others.

She is probably one of the very few who appreciated the nights spent piled into the main rooms altogether, or stranded in the jungle. Having community so close had been a balm.

Her fingers skim lightly along Ellie's jaw, tip her head towards the candlelight. It would be better if they had ice, but Derrica doesn't want to leave to get it.

"So it suits us both," she tells Ellie. Perhaps aware of that thread of worry, that its obligation keeping Derrica here. "And we'll have better choices now that we've eased the pain for you."

Ellie opens her mouth, but her thoughts are a mess, and anything she can think to say feels all twisted up in the back of her throat. For the moment, she listens instead, desperate to get out of her own head.

Maybe it's maladaptive in the long run, but in the moment it comes down to survival.

The soft touches hurt but Ellie leans into them anyway. Lets it all fall away.

"Were you alone?" Ellie asks, her voice quiet. "Before Diarsmuid?"

"No," Derrica answers. "I don't remember it very well, but I know where I was raised."

She had been smaller than most, given over early to the Enchanters at Dairsmuid. This had been part of the story she'd been told too.

Ellie had been alone. Derrica remembers that.

"I had people who looked after me. But they weren't prepared to raise a toddler who could make lightening."

Her thumb is so, so gentle as it passes along Ellie's chin. This is a brief pause to examine the damage. Judge what might swell. Cleared more or less entirely of blood, Derrica considers what might be left until the morning.

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