Post by Seek on May 4, 2013 7:04:10 GMT 10
Title: Patient
Rating: PG
Word count: 568 words
Summary: Buri visits Raoul in the healer's wing.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
He’s lying on a bed in the healer’s wing, with only a little syrup for the pain and it isn’t enough. His leg is swathed in bandages and Raoul doesn’t really want to look at it, doesn’t want to ask the overworked, exhausted healers whether they think there’s a chance of salvaging it.
Mostly, he just doesn’t want to remember how it looked like, once the fighting had died down and they’d supported him and got him to the makeshift healing station that Duke Baird had set up. Stitched him up like a worn shirt, because the healers were too exhausted to do much more.
And then he sees her, still in that blade-scarred, ripped jacket, cuts barely healing over but far more mobile than he is right now. Thayet’s fierce K’miri protector—Buri, they’ve spoken a little on the ship back to Tortall—stalks into the room, dark eyes darting about until they find him. There’s something tucked under her arm, and it only becomes clear as she approaches his bed.
“Hello,” he croaks, “Have you come to rescue me?”
“No,” Buri says, “I don’t make a habit of rescuing big men from healers.”
“We could head out by the window before they even noticed,” Raoul replies. His leg throbs, but he does his best not to show it. The stitches at least are dull needles of pain in his flesh.
Buri rolls her eyes. “With what? The bedsheets?”
“Exactly!” he says, with feigned enthusiasm. “We could grab a few of them and tie them together.”
“You,” Buri informs him, “Have an injured leg. Horse lords, Goldenlake, you’re not going to get very far on it.”
“Oh, come on. I’m in danger of being bored out of my mind here.”
Buri ignores that. “I’ve spoken to your men,” she says, and then she shows him the bottle she’s been carrying. “They’ve all chipped in to get you this. Rosemark says it’ll help with the pain.”
He looks at it—takes a very long look at it. His throat is so dry, he’d have swallowed almost anything by now. But…
“No,” he says aloud.
Buri raises an eyebrow. “I thought the usual thing to say is, ‘Thank you’.”
“No, thank you,” Raoul adds.
“Why?”
He takes a deep breath, and surprises himself when he admits, “I used to have a drinking problem. Now I don’t care much for any sort of spirits.”
“That’s why you’re always drinking fruit juice,” Buri nods. For some reason, she’s smiling. “Thought so.”
“What?”
“I’ve uncles,” Buri says, settling on the bed, careful not to jostle his injured leg, “Who drank fermented mare’s milk to forget the wars with the lowlanders and the death of Kalasin. Some of them stopped when they realised they were hurting the people who cared about them. But they never cared to touch another cup of kumis again. So I brought you this.”
He blinks, as she produces, somehow, another bottle and tucks the whiskey firmly away. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Spiced apple juice,” Buri says, grinning, “With a touch of vinegar. Thought it would suit your disposition.” She hesitates, before adding, “Eleni’s added a little something. It’ll make you drowsy, but it’ll work better than the pain syrup the palace healers have you on.”
Raoul stares at the bottle, and gestures with his bandaged hands. “Think you’d mind helping me open it?”
Buri grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Rating: PG
Word count: 568 words
Summary: Buri visits Raoul in the healer's wing.
Pairing: Buri/Raoul
Round/Fight: 1D
Notes: Part of the Slow Burn series.
-
He’s lying on a bed in the healer’s wing, with only a little syrup for the pain and it isn’t enough. His leg is swathed in bandages and Raoul doesn’t really want to look at it, doesn’t want to ask the overworked, exhausted healers whether they think there’s a chance of salvaging it.
Mostly, he just doesn’t want to remember how it looked like, once the fighting had died down and they’d supported him and got him to the makeshift healing station that Duke Baird had set up. Stitched him up like a worn shirt, because the healers were too exhausted to do much more.
And then he sees her, still in that blade-scarred, ripped jacket, cuts barely healing over but far more mobile than he is right now. Thayet’s fierce K’miri protector—Buri, they’ve spoken a little on the ship back to Tortall—stalks into the room, dark eyes darting about until they find him. There’s something tucked under her arm, and it only becomes clear as she approaches his bed.
“Hello,” he croaks, “Have you come to rescue me?”
“No,” Buri says, “I don’t make a habit of rescuing big men from healers.”
“We could head out by the window before they even noticed,” Raoul replies. His leg throbs, but he does his best not to show it. The stitches at least are dull needles of pain in his flesh.
Buri rolls her eyes. “With what? The bedsheets?”
“Exactly!” he says, with feigned enthusiasm. “We could grab a few of them and tie them together.”
“You,” Buri informs him, “Have an injured leg. Horse lords, Goldenlake, you’re not going to get very far on it.”
“Oh, come on. I’m in danger of being bored out of my mind here.”
Buri ignores that. “I’ve spoken to your men,” she says, and then she shows him the bottle she’s been carrying. “They’ve all chipped in to get you this. Rosemark says it’ll help with the pain.”
He looks at it—takes a very long look at it. His throat is so dry, he’d have swallowed almost anything by now. But…
“No,” he says aloud.
Buri raises an eyebrow. “I thought the usual thing to say is, ‘Thank you’.”
“No, thank you,” Raoul adds.
“Why?”
He takes a deep breath, and surprises himself when he admits, “I used to have a drinking problem. Now I don’t care much for any sort of spirits.”
“That’s why you’re always drinking fruit juice,” Buri nods. For some reason, she’s smiling. “Thought so.”
“What?”
“I’ve uncles,” Buri says, settling on the bed, careful not to jostle his injured leg, “Who drank fermented mare’s milk to forget the wars with the lowlanders and the death of Kalasin. Some of them stopped when they realised they were hurting the people who cared about them. But they never cared to touch another cup of kumis again. So I brought you this.”
He blinks, as she produces, somehow, another bottle and tucks the whiskey firmly away. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Spiced apple juice,” Buri says, grinning, “With a touch of vinegar. Thought it would suit your disposition.” She hesitates, before adding, “Eleni’s added a little something. It’ll make you drowsy, but it’ll work better than the pain syrup the palace healers have you on.”
Raoul stares at the bottle, and gestures with his bandaged hands. “Think you’d mind helping me open it?”
Buri grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!