It had been five days.
It had been five days, and only now was Regulus standing in the hallway of the medical cabin, Marlene McKinnon hovering by him with a stern grip, almost as though to prevent the flighty boy from flying away.
Dorcas counts the action as valid, as all the boy’s impressively subtle fiddling did not say wonders about his wish to be there.
She wouldn’t be half-surprised if he revealed wings that looked as though they had sprouted from the camouflage of his white trainers and simply flew away, she thinks, even if he isn’t a Hermes but a Hades kid.
She acknowledges Marlene’s presence with a sharp nod, and that seems to be taken as cue for the shorter boy to hobble further into the room, fingers comfortably curling into palms this time.
The head of the Hermes cabin knows better than to question her medical capabilities in any way and so walks off with no more than a comforting pat on Regulus’s shoulder.
It was time to deal with the endearingly stubborn boy, swaying slightly in front of her.
Calling upon every ounce of the responsibility trained in to her, Dorcas with empty words of reassurance pulls him down to sit across from her.
She had best treat his injury before she starts hounding him on his whereabouts, the places he had been and the places he hadn’t.
Her deft fingers make their way up his trouser leg, tugging it up and finally hitching it up to rest comfortably high on his sandy-skinned thigh and reveal the sluggishly bleeding wound on his knee.
They trace their way lightly and quickly against the edges where his brown skin meets crimson gushing, entrapping in a completely different way to his grey-brown eyes.
It seems to lock her into motion, helplessness having long since been chucked out of her vocabulary with all the heaving strength she mustered.
A basin is quickly being filled with water that she carries diligently to the bed the two of them had been sitting on.
Regulus knows her well-enough, been in the medical cabin with her long-enough, to already be holding out a clean towel from the med-kit on the stand.
She has to shake away the question of why he hadn’t showed in five days off it’s puncturing position on her mind.
Instead, she grabs the mild soap from the afore mentioned kit and begins the process of lightly rinsing the wound and the brown skin around it.
The intoxicating exhilaration that came with every moment her darker skin brushed against his as they walked the camp-grounds, every time she wandered her hands around skin so reminiscent to deserts in archery practice and unforgettably each time outside of requirement or accident when she boldly pressed herself flush to him, pulling autumn leaves out of his unruly black hair or removing a strand of hair from his food in actions as domestic as those of her mortal parents, mingling their body heat, did not arrive.
There was always a gnawing worry whenever a camper she was so close to got hurt, no matter how minor the injury or ailment.
The familiar process of twisting the water out of the towel, applying petroleum jelly with controlled circular motions and even applying a large plaster to the cut didn’t bring her comfort much.
The youthful voice across from her did, though.
”Hey..”
One word.
Five days of radio-silence and in return she gets one word.
One word in a mumbly voice, the muffling from the arm pressed across his mouth didn’t help it’s volume but it brought the son of Hades comfort.
An action, a feeling, he would only partake in in her company and that of a very select few.
Dorcas couldn’t stay too mad at him for long.
That didn’t mean she wasn’t going to pursue the question that had been dogging after her thoughts so loyally, longingly.
”You haven’t shown up in Five Days. Don’t you think I could have used some company, hm?”
His eyes widen and his pupils dilate, she resolutely doesn’t think of a more pleasurable activity the reaction could suit and instead softens her features to help her -friend.
She follows the movement of his full-lips as he purses them from his now crossed-leg position, taking time to come up with a clear explanation that could possibly clue her in to his minefield of a thought process.
He isn’t very successful, “I’m a Hades kid..I didn’t think it would be appreciated to have one around after the recent attack, a bad omen if anything.”
His face is looking decidedly cup-able now. It could be a good way to get across to him but also she isn’t certain of how far she would go in the moment, if she would allow herself to tip just so slightly, alluringly forward, and bring the sun crashing into the shadowed land, engulfing the shadows in a wrapping embrace and running alongside the similarly flicking dark.
It was too much of a risk, she could admit, still as she was circled, head screwed on tight as the worlds span and she remains stagnant.
Instead, she looks into his eyes and says, “A friendly face would have been appreciated.”
”..My Face?”
His disbelief is cute, heartbreaking and cute and lovable, their story, that is. She best get out her mind too, he’s always been good at pulling her from the depths, for encouraging her onto the dance floor and into the circle with nothing but that adoring look in his eyes.
”Yes, Your face. Who else would it be?”
Caradoc Dearborn coughs from the bed on the left-row, second to the end and thus below Benjy Fenwick’s pencil drawing.
They aren’t alone and yet she still says, “Doctors Orders require you to stay in the medical cabin for three days. I’m staying through the nights for three more days yet, too.”
His crows-feet crinkle.
”I can do that.”