( the repeated pattern of a nod manages to draw some consciousness back into him — alina was slapped, which might've set off her equilibrium, made her too dizzy to restrain newt. as the most able bodied person in the car, it'd fall of rhysand's shoulders to see it done. all of it. it's not a heavy weight when he's supported the entirety of the night court for as long as he has — he takes a loud, gulping breath of air, and recovers. he is not freaking out. a high lord would not do that. he is perfectly, perfectly fine.
his vision blurs heavily once he straightens himself up enough to look at the scene before him, tiny fissures of panic making his stomach churn as he sees alina, weak and bleeding, on the floor. suddenly, restraining newt is the least of his worries as he moves, like a man haunted, to catch alina in his arms before she crumples unconsciously. her head nestles in his lap, careful fingers drawing through the raven dark hair at her temple in an attempt to soothe to both of them, while he locates the source of her hurt. she's bleeding from nose to feet — but it's her stomach holding the brunt of the pain, a gash turning her black dress darker in the spread of a stain.
she'd gotten stabbed. stabbed — and he hadn't noticed. not because he hadn't been watching, but because he can't fucking smell it. he lets out a strangled breath, fingers resting over hers to put more pressure on the wound. )
Hey — t-that's okay, baby. That's okay. ( he nods, like the solidifies the fact that she must be okay. must. he doesn't sob, but tears trail out of his eyes like rainfall, something he only notices when salt and pain fill up his mouth. insistent, he smiles down at her, because if he's confident then she will be too — if she doesn't accept that she's dying, she won't be. rhys refuses. ) We'll be home before you know it, and you can sleep all you want then. Just stay here, now, just awhile longer. Deep breaths, follow mine.
( in on a four count, out on a four count. he shows her, until she follows him, keeps up the steady breathing while he takes up the hem of her dress and eases it gently over her hips, following the deepest shades of red to the gash at her side. rhys doesn't balk. doesn't cry. the soldier of him settles firmly into place at the sight of her oozing wound, forgetting panic in the place of efficiency. and if his fingers shake, it must be the adrenaline leaving him. if his eyes well up, it's the speed of the train. alina isn't dying so there's no need for concern.
one of the prepackaged medical kits gets swiped from the back of his trousers, something he'd grabbed and imagined using on newt if it came to that — although now he's grateful he had the foresight at all, one handedly opening it and spilling it's contents on a clean bit of floor as he searches out what he needs. antiseptic, gaze, a needle and thread. he prepares it with the same efficiency as a soldier on the battlefield, patching his brothers up to get them back in the thrill of it. he has been that man, too many times over.
he wants to tell her this is my fault. he wants to say i'm sorry. instead, he flushes her with antiseptic before pushing the needle through her flesh, and gets to work. )
You know — I think Mal is in love with me. Too bad for him, I'm in love with you. ( it's second nature to talk through everything, keep her conscious and focused on his words while he makes quick work of her stitches. ) He's very insistent, that's all. I love you so much, Rhysand. Please kiss me. Kind of clingy, actually. It reminds me — well, it makes me think of my best friend. Cassian. I miss him, I guess. Please don't tell him. The first time we kissed, he was punching me a second before. It wasn't exactly romantic. He didn't talk to me for a week after the fact, and then he pretended like it never happened. Do you think I let it go, Alina? Absolutely not. I never let anything go.
( he ties off her stitch with a graceful knot, sealing a bandage over her smooth stomach while blood sluggishly ceases to spill from her — stitches not tight enough, but good enough for now. he soothes her dress back down her but frowns at the saturation of blood, swiftly shrugging out of his suit jacket to lay it across her chest, tucking her arms in to better keep her warm. )
I guess the moral of that story is that you can try to leave me all you want, but I simply will not permit you. Okay? We're here, we're staying. You're staying with me, Linny. You're not going anywhere.
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his vision blurs heavily once he straightens himself up enough to look at the scene before him, tiny fissures of panic making his stomach churn as he sees alina, weak and bleeding, on the floor. suddenly, restraining newt is the least of his worries as he moves, like a man haunted, to catch alina in his arms before she crumples unconsciously. her head nestles in his lap, careful fingers drawing through the raven dark hair at her temple in an attempt to soothe to both of them, while he locates the source of her hurt. she's bleeding from nose to feet — but it's her stomach holding the brunt of the pain, a gash turning her black dress darker in the spread of a stain.
she'd gotten stabbed. stabbed — and he hadn't noticed. not because he hadn't been watching, but because he can't fucking smell it. he lets out a strangled breath, fingers resting over hers to put more pressure on the wound. )
Hey — t-that's okay, baby. That's okay. ( he nods, like the solidifies the fact that she must be okay. must. he doesn't sob, but tears trail out of his eyes like rainfall, something he only notices when salt and pain fill up his mouth. insistent, he smiles down at her, because if he's confident then she will be too — if she doesn't accept that she's dying, she won't be. rhys refuses. ) We'll be home before you know it, and you can sleep all you want then. Just stay here, now, just awhile longer. Deep breaths, follow mine.
( in on a four count, out on a four count. he shows her, until she follows him, keeps up the steady breathing while he takes up the hem of her dress and eases it gently over her hips, following the deepest shades of red to the gash at her side. rhys doesn't balk. doesn't cry. the soldier of him settles firmly into place at the sight of her oozing wound, forgetting panic in the place of efficiency. and if his fingers shake, it must be the adrenaline leaving him. if his eyes well up, it's the speed of the train. alina isn't dying so there's no need for concern.
one of the prepackaged medical kits gets swiped from the back of his trousers, something he'd grabbed and imagined using on newt if it came to that — although now he's grateful he had the foresight at all, one handedly opening it and spilling it's contents on a clean bit of floor as he searches out what he needs. antiseptic, gaze, a needle and thread. he prepares it with the same efficiency as a soldier on the battlefield, patching his brothers up to get them back in the thrill of it. he has been that man, too many times over.
he wants to tell her this is my fault. he wants to say i'm sorry. instead, he flushes her with antiseptic before pushing the needle through her flesh, and gets to work. )
You know — I think Mal is in love with me. Too bad for him, I'm in love with you. ( it's second nature to talk through everything, keep her conscious and focused on his words while he makes quick work of her stitches. ) He's very insistent, that's all. I love you so much, Rhysand. Please kiss me. Kind of clingy, actually. It reminds me — well, it makes me think of my best friend. Cassian. I miss him, I guess. Please don't tell him. The first time we kissed, he was punching me a second before. It wasn't exactly romantic. He didn't talk to me for a week after the fact, and then he pretended like it never happened. Do you think I let it go, Alina? Absolutely not. I never let anything go.
( he ties off her stitch with a graceful knot, sealing a bandage over her smooth stomach while blood sluggishly ceases to spill from her — stitches not tight enough, but good enough for now. he soothes her dress back down her but frowns at the saturation of blood, swiftly shrugging out of his suit jacket to lay it across her chest, tucking her arms in to better keep her warm. )
I guess the moral of that story is that you can try to leave me all you want, but I simply will not permit you. Okay? We're here, we're staying. You're staying with me, Linny. You're not going anywhere.