the scars of your love [soulmate scars au]

[theunpressuredclub]

Shea is usually careful, with her. With the other Spades, he has a little freer reign-- most of the time, their soulmates are nonexistent or in the Suit as well. Knowing that makes him a little more comfortable about doing with them what he will. No one in the Suit is going to fight him on what he does, after all; not with Medea's blessing protecting him.

But she's a risk. She's someone who's more likely to be connected to someone outside of the Suit; someone he can't control. So he's usually careful to make sure that the injuries that do end up marring her body are ones easily explained away by the excuse of training. 

But she's gone too far, this time. She's pushed too hard in an attempt to protect too fiercely. She's going to go home bruised and battered; a gash across her leg and a knife injury to her shoulder that's going to be absolutely impossible to hide.

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[ofthecubs]

He's had a large, distinctive scar from the fall from the tree for such a long time that he's never even thought about finding his soulmate. It's never mattered so much that the bruises that occasionally scatter his body are consistent with most Clubs training at any given moment, or that the little knicks of smaller scars usually almost mirror the ones he's gotten himself learning to throw knives or missing a punch--a lovely alteration across his fingers and sides where he and his matched half have fumbled in the same small ways.

But today's different. Today comes sharp and rough and abrupt. The usual battery of rough training have left one leg weak with throbbing pain and his shoulder erupting into a new ugly mass of scarring. It's distinct. It's violent.

It's too much.

And it's got him dizzy, slightly, as he heads down the hall to find Andrew. Andrew, after all, has a level head about this sort of thing--will talk him down from his sudden impulse to scour the entire Deck looking for whoever's been attacked this way. It's such a driven focus that he almost misses the limp in Rachel's step. "--hey. Y' okay?"

[theunpressuredclub]

She's definitely limping. She's definitely holding her arm in a distinctly uncomfortable way, a lump of bandages beneath the too-large shirt she's wearing to hide them. She probably should be keeping it stabilized with a sling so she doesn't risk ripping open the stitches it had taken to get the wound closed.

Honestly, she probably should still be in the infirmary, with the blood she's lost. She's definitely more than a touch pale when she encounters Edgar in the hallway.

"--'m fine. Are-- you?"

He doesn't look much better than she feels, after all.

[ofthecubs]

"--yeah. Just-- the way of things."

It's an older expression for the perils of having half one's soul in an entirely different body, but Edgar comes from an older sort of family. Hopefully, it's still enough to erase any concerns about the twinge running through him as he moves closer. New scars and unbattered bruises usually weren't so dramatic; people tended not to worry knowing a person only carried the echoes of injuries.

"Are-- you sure, though?"

She looks so pale. She looks so much more pinched, like she's holding herself together by sheer force of will.

[theunpressuredclub]

"Hm." There's a fretful hum for the words, nonetheless. Even the echo of injury is worrisome, in him.

His question, though, has her stiffening before the pain of doing so makes her wince.

"--I'm all right."

It's a touch more breathless. It's absolutely a clear line.

[ofthecubs]

"--you're not." Always a bold claim to make about another person, but he knows her. He knows the way she moves when she's hurt, the way her breath comes sharp. "Rach, it's just me."

It doesn't matter if their souls aren't wrapped up in each other, he's certain. The friendship between them (and, at his core, the genuine devotion he's never been sure how to deal with) surely allows him this sort of concern.

[theunpressuredclub]

"'s no big deal, Ed," she says, but she isn't able to meet his eyes even when she does, "I just-- fell down the stairs and banged up my shoulder 'nd leg a bit. It's okay."

Considering she's said an iteration of those last two words multiple times in the last few moments of conversation, it probably isn't okay at all.

[ofthecubs]

It isn't okay.

"Hey." His own fingers are incredibly careful as he reaches out to brush briefly at the arm she isn't holding as he offers his shoulder. His own leg is stinging, but it's just the ghost of pain; he's good to hold her up as she walks. "Should still have-- someone check on that."

[theunpressuredclub]

She doesn't jerk away from his touch, but it's only because everything hurts too much to. The shake of her head is instant.

"Already did. 's no need t'do it again."

Especially not when he's here to see how very much it isn't an injury from falling down the stairs.

[ofthecubs]

"Really? And they-- let you walk yourself home like this?"

Looking so completely drained. Looking so infinitely fragile. Looking like she certainly hadn't been given anything for the obvious pain stinging through her.

"Please, Rach."

[theunpressuredclub]

"D'we-- have to go t'the doctor?"

Can't they just go sit down, so he doesn't have to see how bad it is?

[ofthecubs]

"Did you hit your head?" They can pretend this is about falling down stairs. He's played that particular game for years well enough. "It's just-- so much better, Rach, t' be more cautious than not."

[theunpressuredclub]

A shake of her head.

"I didn't-- hit my head," she replies, "'s really-- not that bad, Ed."

[ofthecubs]

It takes a second to reassess. Worry gets things clouded, after all, and being clouded gets his temper up. Neither of them need that now.

"Will-- you stay with me tonight, then? Or Argine? Just-- in case you decide you need help, or-- painkillers or-- something goes wrong?"

[theunpressuredclub]

She can't help but bite her lip in thought, but it's certainly easier to give into than going to the doctor's.

"If you don't-- mind. I probably won't need anything."

[ofthecubs]

"I'll still feel better."

Like he'll feel better of she takes his arm, despite the fact he'll have to offer her the one still throbbing with someone else's pain to avoid touching the one of hers that looks actually injured.

[theunpressuredclub]

"If 't'll-- make you feel better, then."

And it does feel a little better, to reach out and take his arm and start to let herself lean just a little; take some weight of her hurt leg.

[ofthecubs]

"It--" There's half a second where he needs to inhale to brace properly. He's walked off worse in the past, but only because the pain hadn't been an echo. "--will. Thank you."

[theunpressuredclub]

That, naturally, has her pausing.

"'re you sure you're not-- really hurt?"

Echoes don't normally linger so long if the other person isn't feeling it as badly. Edgar seems like his other person is still feeling it as badly.

That should probably be a clue to her, really.

[ofthecubs]

"All someone else's scars, I promise." As often these days, the thought puts a bit of a knit in his brow. Things seem to have been getting worse, lately, on the 'other end' of things. "Prove it when we get inside. Just must have been... a really rough night."

Because the throbbing hadn't at all begun to truly fade, like the scars were getting worse and the bruises weren't being allowed to heal.

[theunpressuredclub]

"I know the feeling," she murmurs, just a little thinly and entirely unintentionally. There's a quiet hiss as a step tugs especially difficultly at her injured leg, "...Might... take you up on th'painkillers."

[ofthecubs]

"Sure you won't take me up on the doctor?"

A man can hope, surely.

[theunpressuredclub]

A shake of her head.

"It's-- fine. 's taken care of."

Albeit clumsily.

[ofthecubs]

He's learning, slowly, to be careful when to push. He's learning, fumblingly, that blustering through things doesn't always work.

"...okay." For now. His head ducks carefully, temple bumping soft against hers. "We'll just-- go home. And we'll get us both some painkillers, okay?"

[theunpressuredclub]

"'kay."

A shift and a careful press of her lips against his cheek while he's close.

"Thanks, Ed."

[ofthecubs]

"Anything, Rach."

Maybe it doesn't matter, after all, that he's missing the connection in front of them just now. The devotion inherent to his natural inclinations surely must count for a good deal.