forever and never [reed]

Marisa moved to the chair, and Reed exhaled silently at the little progress. More than once, he had seen a contact go completely catatonic after such a night, and he was relieved that Marisa was at the very least responsible. It was not much, but she moved to the chair, and he heard her soft voice. “No, you shouldn’t.” Reed countered, leaving his undershirt on the back of the sofa next to his collared one; the wizard returned to the kitchenette to wash his hands quickly. His forehead was not bleeding anymore, and like most cuts to the face, it was mostly superficial. They exuded a lot at first but calmed down after a moment, and it was not severe enough to warrant his attention first. Reed washed his hands, but his eyes continued to flicker back to where Marisa was sitting.

“If you use magic, you will do more damage than good; the glass won’t come out the way it went in.” After a particularly long night in Jordan a few years ago, Reed had tried to summon the shards of glass stuck in his leg, only to have them behave more like daggers as they ripped back out of the skin. Once he’d finished rinsing, Reed moved back to the first aid kit he’d scattered around the surface of the island and reached for the tweezers. His way wasn’t going to be painless, and Reed was no mediwizard, but at the very least, he was trained enough for this sort of thing.

Field medicine was a lot different than the sorts of things they did at St. Mungos anyway. Reed knew all too well how to prioritize surviving over thriving, but there was no need for such hurried medicine right now. He was confident he’d be able to remove the glass, and she’d have not a scar to remember it by. “If you will allow me?” He asked, one tattooed hand resting on the countertop, turned over so that she may give him her hand, and the other holding up the tweezers to indicate his intent. Marisa was stubborn, but he hoped if he was soft enough, she might listen to reason. "They don't look too deep, it won't take long."

"I can do it," she insisted again, quietly stubborn. She wasn't helpless, dammit. They were only little scrapes on her hands and well, maybe the ones she felt on her arms would be worse, but she could at least do her hands first. Except where was her wand? She glanced around, looking at the spot where she had been standing a moment ago, before she saw it balanced delicately on the edge of his couch next to his shirts. "My wand please?" she asked, glancing at him by the sink because she didn't trust her legs yet, but she was distracted by the water and blood mixing together in the sink.

She had never been queasy around blood, but the sight of his in the sink sent her stomach rolling as the reality before her layered over memories of the streaming blood from her vision. She blanched and made her eyes close, forcing herself to focus only on the way her breath felt coming in and out. When she opened her eyes, she was surprised to see him standing closer, tweezers in hand. His warning about healing with magic was considered, but ultimately discarded. The pain of the magic healing vs the fear of having of having another incidental vision was an easy choice for her.

"I said I can do it myself," she repeated, her voice harder this time, gazing at him warily.

As much as he wanted to yank her hand toward him, Reed took a deep, steadying breath and reminded himself that she wasn’t in his charge professionally. He had taken this upon himself, acting on the intel he wasn’t supposed to have, going to her shop when he shouldn’t have been there, and the most egregious of his mistakes, making it personal. Reed knew himself well enough to understand what it meant, that he cared, but that wasn’t what worried him. The wizard had cultivated a particularly successful life not because he didn’t give a fuck, but because he chose which fucks to give. He cared when it helped him, and he let things slide when it didn’t. It wasn’t often he played hero in the night, swooping to the rescue when it didn’t benefit him explicitly.

And Marisa’s stubbornness only served to remind him of that, of how he’d rushed to save her the moment he heard something might happen, how he’d crossed lines and gotten more trouble for it than it was worth. The balance book was in the red. “Stop being so fucking stubborn,” He said to her as he turned away and went to grab her want from the sofa. Reed didn’t like not being in charge, but he respected her right to make her own choices anyway. “Here, but you’re going to make it worse.” Holding the wand out to her, Reed exhaled loudly again. His head was aching, and his sides were sore already, and he couldn’t shake the lingering feeling as though tonight had only just begun.

His flat was heavily warded, there was no way those men would follow them here, but Reed also knew they could not hide out here forever. And if half of the things he’d heard whispered in the dark of Knockturn Alley were true, there were far worse things waiting for them outside of his skyrise apartment. Reed reached for his wand and began to the spell to disinfect the cut over his eye, followed by one that would stitch it up. With a zipping sound, he winced; his jaw clenched as the summoned twine wrapped through his skin, again and again, pulling the wound closed.

"I'm not," she replied, steel in her voice, her spine straight as he cursed at her, but ultimately did what she asked. Marisa leveled a look at him as she took it, tamping down on the urge to say thank you because she didn't feel like being polite when this chaos was all his fault. "Thank you," she murmured anyway despite her stubbornness and despite his warning. Dammit.

She took her wand gingerly, inhaling sharply at the pain when she gripped it. She didn't realize just how useless her hands were in trying to hold a wand, pain radiating from her palms sharply. She bit her lip as she focused, blocking out his exaggerated sighs. She couldn't wrap her fingers around the wand so instead she tried to wedge it between her index and middle finger as she waved it over her left palm. She inhaled slowly, bracing herself against the pain he had warned about, and then cast the spell with a whisper.

Nothing happened.

Marisa glanced at him, hoping he didn't notice but she winced when he did as he stitched up his own wound. She didn't want to know his history and what made him so good at those kinds of spells. She also didn't want to see him doing that, it was too close to what she had seen in her vision when the thug had gripped her and she swallowed thickly, trying not to see her brother's bloodied face in his.

She refocused on her hand again, focusing on the spell, and was rewarded only with pain as his warning became reality and she gasped as shards ripped through her skin on the way out. Her wand dropped to the floor, rolling away, as she flattened her palm, breathing through the pain as her vision flickered again with memories that weren't hers, pain that hadn't been hers but still felt real. Phantom pain and phantom wounds mixing with reality so much so that it was hard to keep a grip on what was real.

Reed continued work on his wounds since Marisa refused to let him help her, but out of the corner of his eyes, he observed her. The wizard watched as she winced to grip the wand; he saw the first attempt fail and wished that the second try had too. But it did not, and Reed frowned as she gasped. Apart from him wanted to spout a well-earned ‘I told you so’, Reed was quiet; he bit his tongue instead. He finished the spell to stitch up his forehead as Marisa flattened her palms. Her wand hit the floor, and Reed watched it bounce on the polished tiles before reaching for it.

“Are you alright?” Reed asked quietly as he held her wand out toward her. As irritated as he was that she would not let him do it, Reed was glad that it was done. One thing to check off the to-do list, one less thing to worry about, because Merlin knew they had plenty of those types of things tonight.  “You should disinfect and bandage them, as well,” he said, shrugging his tattooed shoulders. There was no emotion in his voice; despite the annoyance he still felt that she had refused his help, nor was there any overt kindness.

"Of course, I'm not alright," she snapped at him, the words flying from her lips before she had a chance to reel them back in. She wanted to snatch the wand from his hand too, but she feared she might drop it again and lose the effect. He was quiet and closed-off and.. blank-faced. She wasn't used to this and she wondered if this was what guilt looked like on him. Guilt for leading those thugs to her shop. Her shop, now in pieces and she shuddered to think what they would steal.

Sure, it could be put back together with a few wands of her wand, but what about the pieces that she had been working on for weeks? Or the fact that this would surely hit the press and perhaps warn off clients? The emotionless tone to his voice, his little shrug of his shoulders and the fact that he looked so damn at ease while she was a shaking mess made her grit her teeth.

Marisa took back her wand anyway, feeling pricks of the shards bite against her palms and she winced, trying to cover the pain with a glare at him. "Why did you do that?" she asked quietly with an edge of anger as she looked back at her hands and maneuvered her wand again to wedge between her two fingers. She could still feel shards in the hand she had already spelled. She clearly hadn't done a very good job and she couldn't for the life of her remember the disinfecting charm, not that she wanted to tell him that.

Anger was a good sign; Reed thought to himself after she'd finished nearly biting his head off for a simple question. Anger was far better than crippling fear, anger led to acceptance, and the wizard would choose anger any day. He didn't tell her to calm down or wait for an apology; Reed didn't want one, nor did he need one, but instead, he turned around and twisted the other highbacked island stool toward her. He slid into the seat, feeling that all-too-familiar burning sensation across his ribs, and gritted his teeth.

Reed was calm under pressure, could speak five languages fluently, including talking to snakes, but he wasn't impervious to pain. It didn't matter how good he might have been at his job or how much fighting experience he had; once the adrenaline started to wear off, he felt pain the same as the next wizard.

"Do what?" he asked without looking up at Marisa. Instead, Reed focussed on the cuts across his knuckles. Opening and closing his fist, he assessed the damage and deemed it not worthy of another spell. The wizard was tired from so much magic, and there was a certain wariness that plagued him after a battle. It seeped into his muscles like lead, weighing him down, and even though his mind was still on overdrive, he fought back a yawn.

If she hadn't been so annoyed, so angry about what had happened in the shop, she might've been a little more concerned as he moved gingerly into the chair next to her. Well, that and he was a little too close to comfort and she was still very much on edge from already having one unwanted vision tonight. Plus, he wanted to play the innocent, I-didn't-do-anything card? She knew Reed was very good at subterfuge, she just wasn't used to it when it was directed at her and it made her harder.

She stared at him, refusing to give way to the concern she felt as he assessed and expertly healed his wounds. She couldn't think about what had caused them otherwise she might lose herself again to the panic and overwhelm. Even now, thoughts of the three men storming into her shop made her anxious. Marisa tried to use it to her advantage, wielding it like a weapon.

"Why did you bring those thugs to my shop? Did you know they were following you?" she accused, wondering what his angle was. She knew there was a slight chance he hadn't done it on purpose, but he had literally said to her that he had news she wasn't going to like before the thugs burst in. Her brows sunk lower as the repercussions hit her the more she thought of it. "You know we're more than accommodating to clients no matter their kind of business," she said thinking of the cigar bar where many of the elite of their world made backroom deals for this and that. Marisa wanted no part of that part of the family business. "But  we have to draw the line somewhere," she added, her tone hard and heated.

Here she was, couldn't even heal her own hands and he had the gall to sit there and be unaffected by all of it, perfectly composed while she felt like an idiot for forgetting the disinfecting charm.

Reed stopped moving his hand as Marisa's words began to register, and slowly he lifted his eyes to meet hers. The wizard was still, quiet, and then he shook his head at her. "You have no fucking clue, do you," It wasn't the typical way he might have spoken to her, but being knocked around, with broken bones and a busted face, and using too much magic, had a way of flaying the patience right off of Reed. His calm demeanor was replaced with the more chaotic one that lived underneath. "I didn't lead them there." He said, the finality in his voice was fierce, and Reed felt uneasy. Like a flame that just wanted to escape, to set fire to everything.

He could have explained everything to her at that moment. He should have told her about the whispers he had heard about the men who had put out the word that they wanted her taken in, that she was of more use alive than dead, which Reed knew could sometimes be so much worse. He could have explained that her brother was in some trouble and that the wizards he owed had no honor when it came to using family as leverage. And that they planned to use Marisa for a whole lot more than that, though, he didn't entirely know what. But Reed didn't.

He didn't explain; he didn't comfort. Instead, he shook his head and sighed. Standing up from the stool, even though it pained him to do so, the wizard crossed the room and leaned against the kitchen counter to stare at her from afar. "But of course, you fucking think it was my fault." And why wouldn't she? He asked himself, looking down at the blood mixed with the dark lines of his inky tattoos. Marisa was good, and Reed was trouble; it was practically written on his skin.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers and she stilled at the expression she saw in his icy blue eyes, feeling pinned under that stare and not liking it one bit. That paired with his condescending statement, more raw and crude than the way they normally interacted, lots of edges to it, made her bristle. She refused to believe the thread of something she felt at his tone was hurt because she was made of stronger stuff than that and she could handle much more than a rich wizard speaking down to her, hell she had survived an assault. At least that's what she reminded herself in the moment.

But his words brought confusion and more questions rather than answers. "You didn't?" she asked even though she could hear the hardness in his tone. She didn't think he was a liar necessarily, but what other explanation was there. She frowned as she glanced back down at her hands, the weight of the mental, physical and emotional exhaustion pressing down on her so much so that she needed to bolster a little strength to finish her attempt at healing her hands. She laid her vine wand against her leg as she blinked. If he didn't lead them there.. did he mean there already knew where to find him?

Marisa glanced up at him for more answers, but he was already moving. Moving away and relief and anxiety warred within her - relief at having him out of touching distance, but anxiety at the distance too, as if something else could swoop in like those wizards had come into her shop. She felt the frazzled edges of her mind fraying again, but she stared at him as his words floated to her. The implication and assumption and offense she heard in her words made her simmer, with an anger that she almost didn't recognize in herself.

"What am I supposed to think, Reed?" Her voice soft but stiff. "You show up with that warning and then they just happen to bust through the windows a minute later? If you know so much, enlighten me. It'll do a hell of a lot more good than me sitting here trying to put the pieces together," Marisa said, meeting his gaze, words spilling from her as her exhaustion had dried up her normal reserves of introversion and reticence.

There was a certain kind of fatigue that settled in after a fight, it left your mind on overdrive and your muscles aching, and Reed was in the thralls of it now. It made him iritable, and he hated the feeling. The wizard prided himself on being in control of himself and the situation around him, but now and again, things slipped, Reed slipped, and it typically did not end well. He shrugged quickly, but not out of confusion, "Think whatever you want, Marisa," He replied because with that fatigue came a lack of desire to explain things to her.

When he had crashed into her shop and barely gotten out his warning, Reed had fully intended to fill her in on the situation. She deserved to know the details, and Reed thought she was more than equipped to handle them, but now he didn't feel like it. Maybe it was pettiness because she had assumed it was all his fault; perhaps it was the creeping effects of a possible concussion, but either way, he didn't have the energy to give her what she asked for. If you know so much, enlighten me. It'll do a hell of a lot more good than me sitting here trying to put the pieces together," Marisa had said, and Reed barely gave her time to finish the sentence before he was biting back.

"You can't put shit back together, and you won't let me help you. Just look at your hands," He said, nodding sharply toward Marisa's torn-up palms and clenching his jaw.

Marisa scowled at his reply, her brows knitting together, at his tone, at his attitude. At the fact that she was asking for an explanation and all he was giving her was impertinence and arrogance on a level that she couldn't quite handle just now. She was used to working and handling tough customers, hell she had been under Moreta's thumb for years and if nothing else, had taught her a few new skills on how to manage difficult personalities, but this, here and now, was different. And she wasn't sure if it was because of what happened in the shop not too long ago or if it just felt so odd coming from him. Particularly after what had happened the night of the gala, where she cringed to think she had felt almost safe with him.

His honesty felt like an attack and it made her spine snap, sitting rod straight in the chair as she dropped her gaze to her hands and then brought it back to him. Sucking on her teeth, she gave him a nod and then a smirk that held no amusement. She was done. She was done and tired and she couldn't remember the healing charms she needed to and she couldn't risk him touching her and asking for his help and she didn't have the energy for the fight he seemed to be looking for. She just couldn't do it anymore. It was all too much. She needed space, she could figure this all out if she just had space. And she didn't need to deal with Reed's insults on top of all of it.

"Alright then," she said shortly, understanding exactly where he stood in this situation and knowing instinctively that she wasn't just about to roll over and let him talk to her like that. She had figured out worse things before, survived worse things before, she reminded herself as if bolstering her armor as she slid off the chair, gripping her wand between her fingers as her palms still stung with shards of glass. "Good night, Reed," she gave him before walking towards the door, trying to gather her wits about her so that she could apparate. But she couldn't exactly decide where to go. To the shop? But what if they were still there? To St. Mungo's to get her hands healed? But she didn't really want to answer questions they might have about the injuries. Would they ask questions? She honestly didn't work since she had never been in a situation like this before, but she would figure it out. She had to.

"Good night, Reed," The wizard stared at her as she got up from her seat, and when the realization that she intended to leave here sank in, Reed moved away from the counter quickly. By the time he had rounded the corner to catch up to her, Marisa was pulling the front door of the apartment open. Reed closed the distance in an instant, a tattooed hand reaching for the wood of the door and pushing it closed from behind her. He did not move away; he held the door shut and winced at the way the movement sent reverberations of pain shooting up his sides. His whole body ached, but he could not let her leave; he would not.

"Stop, Marisa," he said gruffly, trying to hide the pain, but his voice betrayed him some. "If you leave, they will find you, and it's not safe out there." At least not yet, not so soon after the attack. If those boys worked for who he was sure they worked for, then it was a good chance they would spend the night looking for her because it was a lot safer for them than returning empty-handed. Their boss did not care much for wizards who could not finish a job. Reed knew those wizards usually ended up in St. Mungo's, one way or another. His palm against the door, pinning her in the narrow entryway hall, Reed stood closer to Marisa than he had probably ever been. Under different circumstances, Reed would have liked this moment quite a lot.

"Do you understand? They will hurt you." His heart raced at the thought, but he didn't let the emotion consume him. Reed was not unlike other men, his feelings guided him, but he was intelligent enough to recognize it, to use it as a motivation. He didn't pretend that he wasn't interested in Marisa or that he didn't care, even when she pushed him away and rejected his advances.

She heard movement behind her, but she did not expect him to move so quickly. Marisa let out a squeak of a noise when he pushed the door shut, the handle slipping out of her hand and making her suck in a breath at the pain of the friction. The stinging sensation radiated over her palms and into each finger like little stab wounds, but the bigger concern was him at her back. He thankfully hadn't touched her, but he was entirely too close.

He smelled of leather, sandalwood, and the musky, masculine scent that was uniquely his, and reminded her of the night of the gala when he accompanied her around the room, expertly maneuvering through the people and their politics like they were nothing. She didn't want to think he had made her feel safe because it just seemed silly, especially in stark contrast to how she was feeling now.

His voice, low and rough, sounded in her ear and she felt his breath lightly moving her curls. His words making her swallow thickly as frissons of fear crept up her spine at the thought of those men finding her again. She gripped her wand tighter in her hand in reflex, thinking she might be better if she had had her wand on her, but the action made her wince, the shards in her palms making themselves known once again. She turned carefully, thinking she could maneuver away from him, needing to move away, but his arm against the door, caging her in made her feel trapped.

But even more so than the pending threat of masked men she didn't know, Marisa was even more terrified of the immediate danger: him. Do you understand? They will hurt you. She wanted to bite back a reply that said 'Yes, I understand,' she wasn't an idiot. Or perhaps a 'Why?' needing answers from him that he seemed reluctant to give. But all that came out was "Don't touch me," her voice thin and reedy, a plea, her eyes dark with emotion and fear.

"I wasn't going to," Reed replied abruptly, his eyes narrowing on Marisa as he saw the look in her eyes, that trapped look. She was afraid of him too, and he supposed she should be, but he couldn't ignore the way it made him feel either. For whatever reason, Marisa had ensnared him differently; she was interesting because she didn't fall for all of his usual charms. She refused his gifts, seemed to hate his attention, and he rarely caught her staring, not even when he took an incredibly long time putting his shirt back on at the tailor shop. She wasn't like so many other witches that seemed to give in when Reed offered them any attention, and the wizard respected that about her. He'd considered it as some game, and as with all games he plays, Reed never lost. He either won, or he learned.

And he didn't like this newest revelation. That Marisa wasn't thankful he'd saved her, but rather that she blamed him and was afraid of him. It was terrible news, really, and Reed felt it like a kick in the stomach. He hadn't rescued her for the praise, but there was some part of him that thought she might have felt at least a little bit of appreciation toward him for it. That maybe it would have tipped the scales in his favor, and she might have removed a few of the bricks in the solid wall she kept between them. But nope, he wasn't that lucky, it seemed.

He hadn't meant to corner her, but she'd moved first, so this was her fault. Reed took a step back, his hand pulled from the door and rose in the air, a sign of surrender, but he wasn't letting her leave either. The wizard sighed loudly as his hands moved to run up his face and rest on the top of his head. He paused, not speaking for a moment as he thought about all of the angles, and watched her for any sign of movement. If she went for the door again, he was ready, but Reed would instead convince her with his words. "Look, Marisa, I get that you don't want to be here, but you don't have any better choices right now." The anger was gone, and so was the rest of the emotions Reed was feeling. He put on his business voice, the calm one that deflected easily and hid the chaos bubbling underneath.

"Please do not try to leave again," Reed asked, and he might have laughed if not for the bruises already pooling on his sides. Usually, he was trying to get witches out of his apartment, not the other way around. He turned away before moving across the room to the liquor cabinet. "I have whiskey?" He offered his version of an olive branch. Reed was careful as he bent down to reach into the cabinet, pulling a decanter and two glasses out painfully slow, and sucked in a breath of air. And he hoped the whiskey would help with the spells he'd need to do next to fix his ribs.

The anger he harbored for the men who had come to hurt her grew as he realized how useless he might be if they found them here. He was more than adept when it came to magic, and Reed could fight better with his hands than most wizards could with their wands, but he wasn't a superhero. He wasn't immune to pain, adrenaline, and exhaustion. Fighting off three wizards in her shop hadn't been easy, no matter how much he trained or prepared, and he needed time to heal. And so did she. Reed's eyes slipped from her face and down to her bloody hands, and he felt the need to find those men and return the favor rising, despite the exhaustion he felt.