When Things Fall Apart (R'wign)

[Requiem]

He vaguely recalled seeing him, which made it stranger to be alone in the weyr now. M'ta winced at the headache, settling his head back onto the pillows. Sneak was sprawled over his leg, tail coiled as much around the thigh as he could manage and nuzzling him with the occasional whine or croon. "Cool it, Sausage," he grumbled. The irritability in his voice didn't match the gentleness of his fingers as he stroked the spine of the fire-hued firelizard. Even PMS had left off whatever activities normally occupied him and was curled in the hollow of his opposite hip, faint orange tinging his eyes as he watched M'ta silently. The man closed his eyes against the light and moved to drape an arm over his face, the motion ending with a hiss.

He cursed softly and felt at the bandaging over his chest with his other hand. Remembering why it was there had his eyes open again, slitted as they peered around the room, looking for anything out of place. We're alone, Mine, 'Ruth offered wearily. His tone alone made it clear that he still was not in any way pleased with His. He said nothing about that, though. Checkoth's should be back soon. Other patients, I think. Behruth hadn't bothered to ask, actually. His hide was regaining color, but it was nowhere near its usual lustre after the events of this morning.

M'ta attempted to relax a little and moved the arm he'd used to feel at his chest to block out the light now. Whole side of his face hurt. He wondered, then, how bruised it was. The plan was - hastily formed though it was - to help with the evacuation until R'wign had gotten Riaren back to the weyr, and then they could leave, but...he'd run into trouble before that could happen. So now they were stuck here. Cursing again quietly, he burrowed deeper into the pillows and blankets. Suppose he should be grateful he was back here and no longer bound. Though he couldn't for the life of him see the benefit of being stuck here - or why they would need to tie up anyone to keep them.

He deliberately wasn't thinking of the letter cut into his chest, or what R'wign must have thought when he saw it.

[glamourie]

Chirrup. Image flash. R’wign crinkled his nose. You are stressing too much. R’wign ignored the mental scolding from his brown because Checkoth knew very well that the words were wasted – he was worried. He was worried about a lot of people. Meira was gone. Meira wasn’t one of R’wign’s closest friends, but he did care about her and in every way, she was family; she may not have acknowledged it and in fact he was sure that the goldrider would not know how to respond at all to the idea. But she was. Their son may have been what bound them together but they were a family in R’wign’s eyes. Without Meira, Riaren would be hysterical; the boy already knew that something was very seriously wrong since he was staying with his father instead of his mother. Thus, R’wign was worried. As far as he knew, Meira got out; Checkoth insisted that Jingth got her out and that Jingth would be fine, “Jingth is very tough, I would not want to be on her bad side.” Then there was Ka’rys and K’lir – they were gone too – and most importantly of all: M’ta was hurt. All in all? R’wign was in a foul, foul temperament. Foul enough that even the apprentices had noticed and were giving him a wide berth. “You are stressing too much.” Yeah, well. Easy for him to say. He wasn’t missing a bunch of people who were important to him. He had Behruth; that was all he seemed to care about. Grumble.

He’d been taking care of injured parties all morning. Which wasn’t to say that there were a lot of badly injured people – compared to what he’d seen before, in fact, it was minimal. But it felt like an eternity, in part because one of those injured people that he’d stitched up was his weyrmate and he wanted to kill someone. Most of that came to an abrupt halt when an image of M’ta stirring – no doubt from Grouch who was quite neatly avoiding the Angry Gold Firelizard – reached him.

“Stay,” he said to the gold in question and Ellie gave him a look. She hadn’t made a sound since the… event. She hadn’t needed to. One look from Ellie was enough to terrify all of his other mindmates into silence, save for Checkoth. Even Vex was keeping her mouth shut. Ellie was upset over her missing mate – understandably so. And she was being silent, cold, tense and angry at the world as a result. R’wign would’ve felt bad but it was a nice change of pace to be in perfect harmony with someone for once. As it were, he doubted M’ta would be up to fending off his bad mood, his own pain, and Ellie being ragey, though. With an almost regretful look, R’wign turned and departed the infirmary, calling over his shoulder that he’d be back later. His shirt had been over for some time. He’d just been idling because staying in his weyr with injured M’ta made him want to go on a homicidal rampage. How proud would Ka’rys be of that?

Through the familiar halls he swept, not saying anything to anyone on the way. The sky-colored form of Stumpy trailed behind him, gliding awkwardly on way too large wings for a body that was salamandyr-sized, and R’wign left him in his dust around the corner to the weyr. He slipped inside without much in the way of sound because he didn’t need to make a lot of noise to alert M’ta to his presence; his weyrmate picked up the faintest of things. Paranoia did that to a person.

“How’re you feeling?” Because greetings were for people not him. He moved over to the side of the bed and sat down, mindful not to sit on any squirmy dragonids in the process. “By now, I expect the fellis is wearing off.” He’d left the kids – Riaren and Terilyn both – with Salira, K’lir’s mother. Mainly because the woman was a basket case over missing K’lir, but the fact that he liked her more than the drudges came into play. It wasn’t exactly personal, but R’wign couldn’t just sit and fawn over the kids, which is what he knew he’d have been doing if they were in the infirmary. So he left them with a sitter for a brief time while he sorted out the Why do I react so BADLY in crisis? thoughts that were neatly plaguing him from the moment he’d found out M’ta was hurt. “I have numbweed, disgusting tea and enough blankets to take away all feeling in your extremities, if you’re interested.”

[Requiem]

M'ta snarled, eyes going to the door as a leg drew up in a defensive motion. Sneak hissed in response, but PMS crooned a greeting to the man sliding through the door. Safe here, Behruth soothed, the brown curled in a position that allowed him to see everything inside the weyr. He lowered his head on Checkoth's flank again, when the roiling inside His seemed to have calmed. Feeling the pain and jumpiness - no, it was fear, wasn't it, even if the source was hard for the brown to define - coming off His was tiring. Behruth was grateful for his clutchbrother's presence. All but his outermost lids slid closed, the male trying his best to be calm. It wasn't as easy as you'd think.

"Like he hit me with a sack of bricks instead of his fist," M'ta grumped, rubbing his hand over that side of his face and ignoring any hurts but the headache and the soreness in his jaw. His eyes narrowed on R'wign at the mention of fellis, the irritation clear behind them. What did he need that for, knocked out? M'ta didn't like anything mind-altering in his system, especially with these people wandering the halls right now. The younger man knew better than to argue with R'wign about something like that, though. It was done, anyway. He'd just refuse to take any more if R'wign brought it up.

The offer was ignored for now. M'ta half-lifted on an elbow, reaching over and tugging R'wign down to him by the shirt. His hand traced upward over his jaw and he kissed him fiercely. "I want nothing that you have to get up to get," he stated, the growl in his voice not quite masking the small tremor. Already this position was bothering him, though, and he laid back down with ill grace. Wasn't sure how much the muscle was damaged but pressure on his arm hurt, moving it hurt, hell lying here hurt. It occurred to him that his arm had been behind him at the time and that was probably why.

He turned his mind to other things. "Teri and Riaren?" Not nearly enough noise in this room for two children to be here. No, he hadn't really felt like sitting up to inspect the room more thoroughly. M'ta's arm crossed his chest, fingers curled around his weyrmate's forearm as far as they could go. Just to be touching him. It took a little effort to make the grip light, but he managed. While he knew that most of the safety he felt from R'wign's touch was...an illusion...it didn't change that it made him feel that way. Bigger, stronger, and never going to hurt him. Maybe it wasn't mostly an illusion, actually, but he did realize R'wign couldn't protect him from other people. He wasn't that delusional.

It didn't keep him from wanting the man's touch. No, needing it.

[glamourie]

“Oh do put that nasty look away. It’s uncalled for. You were in pain, and you were upset. I gave you something to kill the pain and make you sleep because you would not have –”

Cut off by a kiss. Perfectly okay with him. R’wign lifted one hand to tangle it in M’ta’s hair, light enough to not put any pressure on him, but he returned the kiss with enough enthusiasm that it spoke volumes. He was worried and nervous, as he always was when Selenitas was under attack but especially since his weyrmate was hurt. He’d given him fellis to kill the pain and because M’ta would not have slept without it, no matter how tired he was; he’d probably have had nasty nightmares, tossed and turned and woke up at every sound. Injuries healed better when the body was totally relaxed. Opportunistic healer was opportunistic. He wanted M’ta to heal faster… and he didn’t want M’ta getting into trouble. He was over-protective, and yes, R’wign knew and embraced that fact. If there was a chance that fussing a little too much and being sneaky could keep M’ta from getting hurt, he’d take it. He didn’t want to lose anyone else and he especially didn’t want that someone else to be M’ta. He wasn’t sure he’d survive it. He was already livid enough that he was hurt.

There was a very real problem with being an herbalist. It meant he knew pretty much every toxic plant that grew around Selenitas, some of which were not even known to be toxic; it only applied when they were prepared just right or only the stem of certain blossoms was lethal while the rest just allotted an unusual hallucinatory drug – he knew the effects of most of them, having tested and researched and he was angry like nothing ever before. Part of him wanted very badly to send Ellie to find a few plants, then decoct them in alcohol until they were liquefied; mix in some coloring agents and slip them into wine and goodbye, monster to the one who hurt his weyrmate. And he could easily make it look like it was an accident, if he tried. The problem was that he was the best herbalist in the Weyr and considering that M’ta was known as his weyrmate, it would be suspicious. So no matter how much the voice in his mind was screaming for revenge… he couldn’t exact it. All he could do was try to console. And be angry as hell. And scare the apprentices who were legitimately worried that R’wign would take their heads off. Smart kids.

“Our daughter and my son are with K’lir’s mother, Salira.” She was a greenrider, M’ta might’ve met her. R’wign’s first memory of her was her carrying him away from felines, bleeding, at S’rei’s instruction. “Want me to slip something into his tea that makes it hurt when he pisses? I could; I’m not above it.” The idea was to make M’ta laugh. He wouldn’t actually slip someone something so unpleasant. He was betting the evil invasion troupe were all too paranoid to poison with any ease. Ka’rys was. Irritants. What was with northerners and freaking out over everything?

R’wign shook the thought from his mind and slid down to wind his arms around M’ta’s shoulders, careful so as not to injure him. It was plainly obvious that he was shaken up and justifiably; R’wign was, too. But he was running on adrenaline, and probably would be until things around the Weyr stirred down. Ellie’s anger helped. Checkoth’s anxiety helped. His own fury was a huge cause. He’d be fine – for awhile, anyway.

[Requiem]

It had crossed his mind that his own particular demons might be revitalized in strength. That fear was part of why he'd been so quick to kiss his weyrmate - and so aggressive. He had to know without hurting any feelings. The truth was a relief, in more ways than one. He'd also entertained the notion that R'wign might be mad at him. Behruth was, in his own quiet way. But then, Behruth knew that M'ta had provoked the rider. M'ta didn't believe it would have made an ounce of difference. The dragon disagreed, and it didn't help that M'ta found that opinion naive. Nor that neither of them could seem to soften the emotions involved. Behruth, though, would forgive him, and deep down he knew that R'wign would have, too. Having them both angry at him at once...that was close to unbearable. Especially now. It wasn't hard to see that R'wign was angry, but the enthusiasm behind the kiss assured M'ta that the anger wasn't direct at him.

Of course, he still didn't like the fellis, and R'wign knew that. M'ta got why. Especially if he'd been awake, because he didn't remember that at all, just a vague notion that R'wign had been there. That might have had more to do with the obvious fact of waking up in his own bed instead of somewhere else; he was no longer sure. He got why, but just the idea of being helpless was stirring up all those things that he thought he'd laid to rest between Behruth and R'wign. Right now, right now...right now he was just going to focus on the fact that R'wign was here, and nothing else, because he could feel it rising, the emotion he'd covered with stubborn defiance and anger, like always. It was not emotion he wanted to deal with. Even more, he didn't want to make his weyrmate deal with it.

K'lir's mother. He didn't know her well, but she'd taken care of Kahrelir off and on, and he trusted R'wign's judgment. He nodded. M'ta didn't miss the distinction between pronouns, either, the familiar sting of being separated from such an important part of R'wign's life settling in like a familiar friend. Riaren would never be his son. He shrugged it off in silence. That truth had been accepted long ago. The boy would be missing Meira, and R'wign would fuss. Fortunately, the quip had the desired effect and M'ta laughed, the dissipation of the sobering thoughts well worth the pain in his chest. "I would, but he'd probably get a kick out of upsetting you enough to provoke it and actually enjoy pissing fire," M'ta responded with a wry grin. "Can't we just drown him?" No one said you couldn't mean it when you were joking around.

He wanted R'wign's touch so badly it was frightening, and for a moment his control wavered alarmingly. M'ta didn't mind the stabs and aches as he shifted slightly to rest his injured side against R'wign's chest, burying his face into his neck and taking comfort from the slow, steady pulse. He kissed the spot lightly. "I'm sorry," he murmured, so soft it was barely audible to his own ears. Fingers curled in R'wign's shirt, twisted there. "You won't need to worry about me. I can be good. When I try." It was only partly a lie. M'ta couldn't, of course, promise anything outside his control. He thought that R'wign would know what he meant, though. The younger man knew when to keep his mouth shut and his head low, when the situation called for it. M'ta had no intentions of leaving R'wign to make it on his own. Just...it would have been nice if they could have left with the others. Asking R'wign to put up with the inevitable heightened paranoia was not really something M'ta wanted.

[glamourie]

“Who says I need to be upset to lace someone’s drink with something unpleasant? I’ve been known to consider doing that to people I like for no reason other than my amusement,” R’wign reasoned with a slight whimsy in his voice, the fact that he was teasing undeniable. He wasn’t going to provoke any of these people until he had a good beat on them and knew what he could and couldn’t get away with. For the moment, he only knew that they didn’t seem eager to keep hurting people. For the moment. That could very well change. They’d babbled something about healers having blanket protection (reassuring, that) which meant that as long as he didn’t pick fights, he’d probably be fine. That was all he knew, and that wasn’t enough to plan a course of attack. But he’d learn. He had several winged spies and despite all appearances, he could be observant when he needed. Right then, he felt he needed to be. Until he had everything sorted out and he knew where he stood with everyone.

Part of the problem was that R’wign hadn’t been in an environment different from Selenitas since he was, what, fifteen, sixteen? And before that, it was healer hall. The rules of Healer Hall were strict: you only tended to one of the warring Weyrs, to avoid having a risk of information spreading, and R’wign was assigned to Fort. His understanding was that many of these riders were from Benden originally and it just felt awkward. Not to mention that Benden brought back plenty of discomfort for him no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. He’d always, always associate them with his missing eye and it made him want to skitter off and/or snarl. He was hiding it expertly under a mask of anger that most everyone had to be feeling and cold professionalism, but that didn’t fix the problem. He didn’t even know how to bring it up.

And the only person he could bring it up to was definitely not okay to start with, so R’wign did the intelligent thing and vented to Checkoth. His brown didn’t know how to help, but he was listening and that made something of a dent in the stress the healer was feeling.

“Go easy on your injuries,” R’wign scolded softly, but he didn’t move to stop M’ta from curling against him. Physical contact was always something that he liked. He was touchy-feely and overly affectionate at times, often to the point of making others feel awkward and nothing was likely to change that. Thus, even though he knew M’ta was hurt, he didn’t really mind his weyrmate curling against him so long as he didn’t make his injuries worse by doing so. Yes, R’wign fussed, and no, he had no intentions of stopping any time soon. The apology made his eyebrows raise and part of him wanted to scoff at the words that followed. No matter how much M’ta explained it, he would always worry, because M’ta was his, and he cared about him. Telling him not to fuss was like asking Thread not to fall, the ocean not to stir, and grass not to grow. It didn’t happen.

“You could be perfectly behaved and I would worry about you. That said, I should hope for Teri’s sake if not mine that you’ll behave yourself. Or at least not get caught.” He paused, then tilted his head to nudge M’ta with his chin. “Do you want to talk about it?”

[Requiem]

R'wign's attempt at lightness was appreciated, even if M'ta wasn't really in any mood to banter with him at the moment. No, he was more than happy to simply rest on his weyrmate's chest, pressed into the man's warmth and listening to his voice. The scolding tone was met with a nip to his neck. M'ta knew that much, thank you, but he doubted he'd be pulling loose any stitches adjusting to take advantage of R'wign's presence. And if he did? Well, then it was bound to happen anyway, because this was the only day he meant to stay down as a result of that psycho. If that long. He wanted to see what was going on for himself, walk the halls, eat in the dining hall...feel out the changes. Because he had no doubt that there were changes.

The brownrider laughed shortly, pain working itself into the sound that time. "Don't get caught. You're bad for me, gorgeous...don't you know you're supposed to threaten me to be a good little boy? Well I don't know, if it won't be risking your displeasure I may well just go wild..." M'ta's voice trailed off at the nudge and question. He pressed a little closer and distracted himself tracing patterns over the healer's skin with the hand he'd slipped under the man's shirt. "What did you want me to talk about, R'wign? How it happened? How it felt? If I'm okay?" His voice had taken on a quiet, growling bitterness. "It's just the same old pattern, R'wign. No matter how hard I try, how much I work or what decisions I make I'm always wrong and someone else gets hurt. Now we're stuck in here with a bunch of Bendenites. So no, I'm not okay."

The younger man exhaled slowly through his nose, splaying the fingers that had curled into his palm back out over R'wign's chest. "Sorry. I don't mean to snap at you." He nuzzled the man's jaw apologetically. "Cornered me when I was trying to get out one of the younger bronzeriders. They had the kid I'd sent to draw people out of the hall. I didn't get all of the ones chasing him, so the last caught him. I could have killed the ones hemming me in before they got close, but the others would have caught me eventually, you weren't ready, and I wasn't going to sacrifice the kid for no reason." His other hand drifted up, ghosting over his own chest. "The rider wanted to know where the rest of Legatus and the weyrlings had been sent. They had descriptions of us, apparently...knew my name even." Ka'rys. His sister. There was little need to describe the rest, and he wasn't about to say anything about Z'ves. It would only sound paranoid. After Bitra, if he didn't ascribe strange motives to a man hurting him while bound and practically helpless, it would have been beyond odd. Ba'sun's snarling about playing 'grab ass' aside.

He allowed himself a wry chuckle. "The pretty colors are courtesy of your boyfriend from the infirmary. I still can't decide if he just wants you for himself or he was trying to protect your pet bronzerider from my tongue. Hit me a little harder than necessary," the brownrider concluded ruefully. Not that Z'ves was likely to get him to talk, at least not before the others had time to clear out. He was pretty sure the jawbuster hadn't been an act of 'kindness' from the bluerider who'd handed them over to these Benden renegades in the first place. No, Ba'sun had his own agenda. And M'ta was determined to find out just what that agenda was.

[glamourie]

“I know better than to tell you not to do something.”

What it all came down to for R’wign was that he believed, conclusively, that M’ta would not do anything that put him in danger. It was probably an arrogant belief but he had no doubt that his weyrmate loved him beyond a shadow of doubt, trumped only by Terilyn, and that in mind, he did not for one second believe that M’ta would ever put him at risk. R’wign himself was not all that great at fighting; that he knew. M’ta knew it better than he did. If M’ta got caught – it wouldn’t just be him in danger. It would hurt R’wign, and he was sure that M’ta knew that. It would hurt Teri, too, and M’ta had to know that. So, yes, R’wign trusted him to take care of himself if only because it would hurt those he loved if he didn’t. Self-preservation was a necessity, but R’wign didn’t have much faith in M’ta’s sense of that. Sometimes he got a bit reckless, or so it seemed. Maybe he was being unfair in his labels. R’wign really didn’t know. He just… had more faith in M’ta’s ability to take care of himself for his sake than himself. Was that so wrong?

The snapping earned absolutely no response from R’wign. Truthfully, he was annoyed. Did M’ta think that he liked seeing his weyrmate hurt, coming to him bloody, or the knowledge that they were now trapped in a Weyr of people – the same people who had cut out his eye, killed his sister? He didn’t. Losing his temper and getting into a fight solved nothing, though, and as Checkoth put it through the back of his mind, M’ta didn’t mean it. It just… was a tense situation all around. R’wign handled tension okay. Sometimes.

Besides, M’ta apologized a moment later and that made it forgivable.

“I have a pet bronzerider?” Yes, that was R’wign’s response. He wondered briefly if he meant Ka’rys, because Ka’rys was the only bronzerider that R’wign knew. But he was also someone that R’wign would bet no one needed to protect. The curiosity was pushed aside for the moment and R’wign smiled weakly before tacking on, “Blue was always more my color than yours. You’ll heal. Chest should too.” He didn’t really know what else to say. That it would be okay? Who knew whether that was true or not. That the bluerider wasn’t his boyfriend? It was a mocking jab. But one that was definitely sensitive.

Because R’wign had liked him. Oh, not as anything more than an associate; even gaining ‘friend’ status from R’wign was something people had to work at since he was more inclined to sass and be friendly to people without revealing anything than he was to actually confide, but still. He’d overlooked any weird past the man had and part of R’wign felt incredibly betrayed all of a sudden – as though his faith had been misplaced. He didn’t like that feeling. He kept it to himself, coldly locked underneath a smile, never to breach the surface. He was good at that, never quite voicing exactly what bothered him. Shards, he still hadn’t fully forgiven Sel’n for not telling them everything he knew; R’wign still, in part, blamed him for what happened with Fort. Unfair? R’wign? Yeah. All the bloody time.

[Requiem]

"Yes, R'wign." M'ta didn't elaborate, finding it amusing that the man didn't seem to know who he was talking about. So maybe it was weird to call Ka'rys anyone's pet, but considering how few people the healer liked or trusted, he thought that it fit in this case. Or maybe it would have been more accurate to term R'wign Ka'rys' pet. No matter. Either way it should have been easy to figure out who M'ta was talking about, considering the fact that no one else even came close to qualifying.

The younger man snorted softly. "Still only blue? Lucky me." The green and purple would no doubt come later, then fade to a nice yellow. He was fine with that, though. Bruises didn't show up against his skin as well as they did other people's and it wasn't like he was ashamed of it anyway. M'ta let the silence drag on a little, going back to tracing circles over R'wign's chest lightly. He liked the tight muscle there, especially when it moved beneath his touch. Such a randomly simple delight, that. "Should. I know he got muscle deep enough to take awhile to heal. It's not going to be tight and awkward for months or something crazy like that, is it?"

While grateful that his throwing arm had been spared the damage, thinking about the dagger biting so close to heart and lung still shook him up a bit. It hadn't mattered so much at the time. There was nothing he could do about it, after all. Not that was likely to end with him still breathing. But now, yeah, it bothered him. So close. He really needed to stop getting himself into situations like this. How many close calls could you have before it was just too many?

M'ta's fingers curled against R'wign's chest, dragging downward over his abdomen, then rested there above his waistband. Warmth. Movement beneath his palm with each breath. He liked that feeling. Always needed it to sleep, the reassurance that his weyrmate was still alive, still warm, still breathing. "Are you going to be okay?" he asked the man quietly. He knew how hard it must be, treating people so closely related to the one who'd stolen his eye. Killed his sister. And R'wign had always treated Fort riders, hadn't he? Well, until he started studying under the herbalist, that was.