Beatrice wished she hadn't opened her mouth. Thinking was what had gotten her attacked. She tried to chalk it up to blood loss or shock that she wasn't focusing properly. But not focusing was dangerous. The thoughts always leaked out.
Beatrice knew Sam would still expect an answer, and she decided not to lie, keeping her voice strangely even, "I was in a car accident when I was eleven. Got banged up pretty bad." Bea glanced around and made sure she hadn't made anything appear, and breathed, careful not to move while being stitched up. She switched subjects once more."...I appreciate the help. I don't know where he's gone, but you'll have to thank Cryptid for me as well."
After that she simply watched Sam stab her flesh over and over, pulling the thread through until her skin started to close back together. It would scar, badly, but because of them she would live. For now that would be enough.
Bea’s words rang true as she spoke, and Sam nodded. A car accident, huh? She felt like there was some kind of significance to that, but she wasn’t about to pry. She really just wanted to just–
Sam reached a hand up, pausing her stitching, and placed her hand gently on the girl’s head, bringing it down to cup her cheek. She gave her a small smile before returning to work, more than halfway done. She tugged on the stitches, making sure they stayed just the right level of taunt. This was going to leave an ugly scar, but it was better than leaving it a gaping hole. She paused for just a second when she brought up Cryptid and then continued sewing.
“I’ll make sure I pass along the message the next time I see him. It won’t be too long. He comes around often.” Sam turned her attention to the floor again as the shower in the next apartment stopped. She could feel Todd moving faintly through what she knew was the other bedroom, probably getting dressed to come over and check on Bea. Her smile grew a little sad as she finished the stitches, tying them off and snipping the threads. “For now, just worry about taking care of yourself. This is going to hurt for a while. Don’t exert yourself and keep it elevated as much as possible for the next few days, if you can manage it. It will help with the oozing.”
The steps in the other apartment started to move toward the front door. He was on his way over. She stood up stiffly. Sam still hadn’t fully recovered from her fight with Valkyrie, but she could move, and that was what was important right now. She didn’t need to add to Todd’s worries but looking injured. She smiled at Bea and gestured to the leg as she cleaned up her emergency aid kit.
“There we go, all stitched up. The thread is dissolvable, it will take a few weeks, but eventually it will dissolve in the shower. So I don’t have to fish it out of your skin. Again, I want to see you every few days for the next three weeks so I can monitor it and get you antibiotics if you need them. Okay?”
Beatrice flinched for a second as Sam reached out, and the next second Bea felt ashamed she had reacted in such a way. Sam's hand cupped her cheek. It was warmer and softer than she had expected, and something about the gesture caused a tight burning in Bea's throat that she swallowed down. She had to keep herself from leaning into the touch.
And then it was gone. And Sam had returned to her stitches.
Bea collected herself, "I'll be careful, and getting a hold of antibiotics wont be an issue for me." One didn't own a pharmaceutical company and not have access to medications. "I'll be sure to take care of it and keep watch for infection and compartment syndrome..." Bea trailed off, running through her head all of the medical papers and textbooks she had read about injury and infection. She stopped herself, and like a good patient continued to repeat the doctors instructions. She didn't want to seem rude. "Stitches will dissolve in a few weeks. Got it...thank you."
It didn’t take Todd long to change. Back in his apartment, he’d stripped off the layers of armor and padding and replaced them with a pair of jeans and a few layers of shirts and sweatshirts, big enough to hopefully help conceal his frame. It wasn’t like he was going to get warm in them, or look too out-of-place in the December cold.
He double checked himself in the floor-length mirror that had appeared in his room at some point. A lot of his furniture had appeared in his room at some point, or showed up in boxes he didn’t order. He knew it was Sam, but there wasn’t really any way to address it with her. It wouldn’t really be worth addressing, at this point. It was too late to do anything.
He shook that off, and pulled on his sneakers. It’d been long enough that he could pad into the hall, lock the door quietly, and head over toward Sam’s apartment. She’d know he was coming. Anything they needed for privacy, she’d finish taking care of now.
As usual, her apartment wasn’t locked, and he opened the door without actually knocking.
“Knock, knock!” he announced instead, his blue eyes turning into the living room. He paused, as if taking in the scene of Sam performing impromptu surgery, leaving one hand on the doorknob. “This a bad time, Sammy?”
His voice hit her like a train crashing into a brick wall at ninety miles an hour. She swallowed hard as she zipped the case shut, looking up with as bright a smile as she could muster. He didn’t deserve her sadness right now. He didn’t deserve to shoulder that.
“Todd. No, please, come in. Let me introduce you. My masked friend came by and brought me a patient.” Sam straightened back out and returned the kit to the kitchen counter as she spoke. She moved stifly, but it was better than letting either of them see her limp from the still oozing hole in her foot. For any normal person, a burning spear through the foot would have cauterized the wound, but not for Sam. She was left with a gaping wound that had bled for a long time before closing up. And even then, it still oozed where it cracked as she walked.
Thank god for bandages and thick socks. She’d bound it with enough padding that hopefully even Todd’s nose wouldn’t be able to pick up on the blood tinged plasma that broke through the cracks.
“This is Bea. Cryptid brought her in for me. She was attacked by a meta. Actually, I have something I’d like you to look at.” She moved back into the living room, her smile unmoved. A bit of pain had crept into her eyes, though whether it was physical or emotional, it was hard to say. Either way, she gestured to the girl on her couch when she spoke. Then she gestured to Todd. “Bea, this is my boyfriend Todd. Do you mind if I tell him what you’ve told me? He might have some connections that could help.”
Beatrice did her best to sit herself up on the couch, and turned to look at the arrival who had just announced his presence. She noticed the subtle change in expression on Sam's face. It was hard to discern if it was from the akwardness of the situation, or if Sam and this boyfriend were fighting. Between the pain and exhaustion she didn't give it much thought past that. It wasn't any of her business.
"Very nice to meet you, Todd." Beatrice said. Her curiosity was piqued at Sam's mention that this Todd might have connections that could help them. Help with what though, was the question. Beatrice had no desire to investigate this further, or to send Cryptid, or any hero after the Mustached Man. It would open to many doors about her history and abilities she wouldn't be able to close.
She winced again, managing to sit up all the way. A wave of dizziness overcame her, so she sat very still for a moment until the room stopped spinning like a top, and nodded. "I don't mind. Go ahead."
There was probably no harm in it, even if it did make her nervous.
“Right. So, the way she tells it, she was attacked by a metahuman while she was walking home. She thinks he might have been homeless and he stabbed her when she had nothing to give him.” Although her tone was calm and even, to keep Bea from noticing, Todd would know. Todd would know that Sam had clocked her lying, just by her phrasing. He knew her well enough for that, she knew. She walked over to the coffee table and picked up the crystal.
She balanced it in her hand and looked up at him. While she absently turned the crystal over in her hand, she approached him. Holding it out to him, she continued, “This is what he stabbed her with. I don’t know about you, but I think this is a pretty distinct power. Should be trackable. What’s your take on this, love?”
She passed it over to him and then crossed her arms, watching him. Her eyes softened as she took in his sweatshirt and jeans, jeans that were somehow both too short and too baggy on him at the same time. She thought about the gifts that were sitting wrapped in the closet, and how hopefully when she gave them to him in a few days, it would help him see she had no intent to kill him.
The thought made her smile fade a bit, but she managed to mostly keep it in place.
"No," Beatrice said hoarsely. They didn't say they were going to try to track this bastard down. It was tanamount to suicide and she would't have it. No one else was going to get hurt because of her, or the Mustache Man.
Her voice strengthened. "I appreciate everything you've done for me, really...but don't go after this guy. I survived." After a moment Bea bit her lips in pain as she sat up and weakly moved her legs so she was sitting instead of half laying down. Once the wooziness passed she forced herself to stand, keeping her weight on her good leg.
