No Rest for the Wicked [Visualspice] (M)

[Nightcrawler]

Skippy began to writhe and shudder. "Nonono," Fletch whispered. "You stay sleeping, princess." He lifted his bunched up shirt and felt the wound. The bleeding seemed to have slowed enough. He breathed a sigh of relief. "Right," he said, and reached into his pocket to produce the ointment that Nola had given him for his cat scratches. He could have almost laughed at the thought of it. At the beginning of that day, the worst thing that had happened to him was a stray cat. Now...

Fletch dressed the wound, first with the ointment, then with strips of shirt, and finally, reluctantly, he tore a sleeve off of the thing and tied it securely around her leg to hold the bandage together. His fingers shook, either from the cold, or the pain, or, maybe, from not having a decent drink in who knew how long. He coughed into the crook of his elbow and sniffled. He sighed. It wasn't that she'd be tough to flip over. It was that she'd scream something fierce if he did it. He hesitated. Then, much as he didn't want to, he pulled his coat back off and laid it on the grass. His skin prickled. His teeth chattered. He hated this. It was best to get it over with.

"Alright, love. Here comes the hard part." He slid his hands under her back and shoved her over to lay, belly down, on his coat. He began, as gently as he could with rough sailor's hands in the dark, to check along her shoulders for wounds.

[visualspice]

In the confusion, a familiar voice cut through the cold. Who..? How ..??

She couldn't remember much at the moment but as her eyes began to focus she noticed him abd it took some time for her to register...

"Fletch?" She barely managed to croak out his name.  Kia's name.. everything hurt.  She closed her eye, shivering.

He was speaking but they just became words. She had nearly slipped back off into unconsciousness when suddenly- she was flipped onto her belly and her screams of pain were muffled into his coat.

Her entire backside had been lashed open with wounds that, has been starting to crust over and heal.. that was until the movement of her body tore them back open- as some of the blood had glued her wounds to the stone street.

She trembled, shaking terribly, tears streaming uncontrollably from her eyes as she suddenly lost the ability to scream any further, back glistening with fresh blood from raw wounds.

[Nightcrawler]

"Yeah, not Prince Charming, sorry love," Fletch replied as her voice went hoarse and then cut out altogether. For a second he'd hoped she'd passed out again, but no. By how she shook with silent sobs, he knew she was still awake. She trembled from the cold, too, and he realized he'd flipped the blanket over with her. He paused, wrestling with his own guilt. He really, really wanted to keep his coat for himself. Well. It was already ruined from the scratches and the blood. What was one more stain? But he'd still take it back from her when he was done here. She already got his fucking blanket. She wasn't going to manipulate him out of his coat, too. Grumbling beneath his breath, he unbuttoned it again, tore it off, and tucked it around her, leaving her back and shoulders exposed. "Don't you go and get used to this chivalry bollocks," he growled. Being this cold was really making him cranky.

He began to work his hands across her. He winced as his fingers slipped through fresh, warm blood. Flipping her might have actually caused more harm than good. Where's a bloody medic when you need one? he thought. He knew, more or less, how to patch up his fellow sailors when the inevitable cuts and bruises and splinters happened. Hell, any sailor worth his salt should. But this...? This was out of his depths. And the both of them knew it.

There was nothing for it but to try, though. So try he did. There were two bleeders back here that he could tell. One was on her shoulder, and he slowed it down well enough by applying pressure with his crumpled up shirt, then bandaged it up like the wound on her leg. The other one, though...the knife had gone through her corset. He screwed up his face while he tried to remember what a man's insides looked like. If Skippy was lucky, the blade had missed her kidney. If she wasn't...well. Then he was way out of his depths. "I think we need to cauterize this one," he told her as he felt along the slit through the fabric. "In the meantime..." He retrieved his coat, swung it around his bare shoulders, held the shirt to the wound, and rolled her back over on top of it with a laborious grunt. She'd create her own pressure, he figured. Keep it from leaking too much more.

Fletcher stood and donned his coat again. He looked down at her pale silhouette. He was, quite frankly, fucking exhausted. Every fiber of him burned and ached and throbbed from the beatings he'd endured. He hated this. He didn't want to have to take care of some woman on top of it all. Hell, he'd still be livid at her if he had so much as a drop of energy left. But he'd be good anyways. He'd keep her alive, if only so he could throttle her for all of this later. "I'm making us a fire," he told her. "Don't go anywhere, yeah?"

He came back a short time later and dumped an armful of dry grass and twigs a few feet away. Something about all this felt awfully familiar: the cold, the pain...surviving out under the stars. It nagged at him. In his mind's eye he could see it: pale hands stacking kindling and starting a fire, night after night, until he caught on. Someone had taught him how to do this, and recently.

Fletcher struck a match. Within minutes, he had the fire going, and his knife point stuck under it to heat up. "Least we can keep warm for now," he muttered. "At least there's that."

[visualspice]

Missendria was going in and out of consciousness as Fletcher worked. By the time he returned, she was awaken again, groaning anytime she moved. But she was able to move in such a way that she could watch him, the kindling flames dancing in the subtle glow of her eyes.

She merely watched him, saying nothing as she trembled.

Then she finally croaked, "Thank you." As she closed her eyes, a few tears running down her cheeks.

[Nightcrawler]

He almost didn't hear her over the crackling fire. Did Skippy just thank him? Well...good. It was the least she should be doing. Hell, she'd be dead if he hadn't come along. Fletcher glowered over at her, his expression obscured in shadow. There was a sparkle on her cheek. Wait a moment. Was she...crying? He shook his head and sighed. Women, he thought. He couldn't imagine crying at a time like this. It was stupid. Pointless. "Yeah," he grunted. "You're welcome." He nudged the knife a little deeper into the newly formed coals. It was almost ready. "You may want to hold off on thanking me, though," he added. "This last one's going to hurt like a sonofawhore."

He crawled back over to where she lay. "Gotta flip you back over now. You ready, cupcake?"

[visualspice]

She lay there a moment, quiet, tears still streaming gently down her cheeks before she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

"Will it hurt?" She asked, trying to jest but her voice came out all croaky. But she only nodded at him and tried to move, whimpering as she did so, as any movement hurt like hell, and she almost found herself laughing at the idea she could hurt anymore.

[Nightcrawler]

Fletch stared down at her like she was crazy. Well, she was crazy, but...

He snorted. "Huh. You can't be dying that hard if you're cracking jokes." Still, he didn't think he could deal with it if she started screaming. She was probably a shrill screamer, and his head hurt too much to tolerate that kind of shite right now. Fletcher sighed. He groaned and looked up at the sky like it was the sky's fault he was in this situation. He wanted this to be over with. He got to work on his belt buckle.

"Not what it looks like," he mumbled for the fiftieth time that night. He laughed under his breath and shivered again. "You know...this is — the least — amount of fun — I've ever had — taking my clothes off — for a woman. There." Finally, the belt came free. He held his trousers up with one hand. With the other, he waggled the belt near Skippy's face. "You're going to want to bite down on this, love. Take it."

He let go of his belt loop and slid his hands beneath her back again. "Right. Ready? One, two — "

On three, he rolled her over, wincing in anticipation of the horrible noise he was sure she'd make. At least she'd probably be loud enough to scare off anything lurking in the shadows. He shuddered at the thought of what might be out there watching them. Truthfully, he hated the countryside. Surviving in the woods and sleeping under the stars always made him feel dirty and cranky. Why anyone would camp on purpose when they had a nice, soft bed to go back to was beyond him.

Fletch felt along the back of the corset until he found what he was looking for, then pulled. "Fucking hell, woman. Why's this thing tied so bloody tight?" But he managed to loosen it anyways, and pulled it down just enough to feel the wound. His hand slipped over fresh, warm blood. "Shit," he grunted, his panic rising again. He hadn't considered that the corset was keeping the injury shut. He had to move fast. "Going to cauterize now," he told her, his raspy, hurried tone betraying his fear. "Bite down hard." He leaned over, grabbed the knife, pulled the corset out of the way, held his breath, and pressed the blade into the wound.

The nasty smell of it hit his nostrils. He coughed and tasted his own blood. He ignored it. He had to focus and finish this up. Hastily, he smeared on a thick layer of Nola's ointment, pressed the last of his shirt scraps over the wound, pulled her corset back up over it, and tugged the thing tight again — though not as tight as it had been before. He wasn't here to torture her, after all. "All done," he told her. Suddenly, he was fucking exhausted. He was certainly too tired to baby her through this anymore. Without a warning, he rolled Skippy onto her side so she faced the fire, retrieved his belt, and adjusted the blanket. Then he sat down a little ways away with a grunt.

Finally, it was over. Fletcher rifled through his pocket, produced yet another cigarette, and lit it in the fire. He sat there in silence for a long time, smoking and ruminating, the light of the flames casting stark shadows across his battered face. "So," he said at last, still staring blankly at the white-hot coals. "How're you going to get back at them?"

[visualspice]

The pain was incredible. But she endured. Somehow.. she always endured. At times she prayed she might not, so during times like these.. well.. so it would guarantee there'd never be any more times like these. 

Her face was wet with tears, her throat- raw from screaming. But the leather helped. At least she didn't crack her teeth or bite off her tongue at the pain.

But she let Fletcher work.. fuss.. her mind numb, ears ringing, mind muffled. She barely cracked a ghost of a smile at his jest.

But at his words...

There was only silence to reply.  Her violet eyes grew distant and lost into the chirping coals- she thankfuk for the warmth but she had no energy for anything else. And then she began to shiver.

[Nightcrawler]

She didn't respond. She just stared at the fire. Women, he thought again. Fletcher watched her for a little while longer, his battered and swollen face made a monstrosity by the deep shadows of the night. He thought about what he'd do in her place. What justice would look like. But then, he was just as much the victim as she was, here. So maybe he'd do what he wanted no matter what. And what he wanted was to deal the same pain back to the sons of whores who'd attacked them.

In time, he finished his fag and tossed it in the fire. He coughed. Tasted blood. Shivered at the cold. It snapped him out of his murderous ruminations, and he saw that she was shivering, too. It made him irate to see her like that. Hadn't he done enough? "Fucking hell, you have my blanket and everything," he grumbled. "The fuck more could you need?" Then he trembled again, and watched his breath hit the air like smoke, and it dawned on him. He rolled his eyes. "Fuck me," he muttered. "This isn't some bloody women's novel." But he did it anyways: scooted over to where she lay and flopped down with his back against hers. It was colder over here. Her body blocked the heat of the fire. But he'd survive. He'd...

He drifted off to sleep.

[visualspice]

In the morning, when he'd awake- she had hoped.. no prayed to be well enough to vanish. But the little sleep she had acquired only made her feel ten times worse that morning.

She honestly felt like she'd been run over by an ox. And more than once.

How am I still alive?

The thoughts stirred around inside her head like little gnats. Then she peered over at him, sleeping- somewhat uncomfortably, with his back pressed to hers. They must have remained close for warmth.

She shivered, now from the cold and not just the pain. These damn autumn evenings were the worst. There was a time she used to be enchanted by the fall time and it's radiant, blazing colors of the trees.

Now? Now everything was an irritation. She sniffles, brushing away tears frustratingly. She didn't need to get emotional again. What she needed was help,.. or a way out. Anything. This mission.. she had failed.  She grimaced, considering her boss who had zero tolerance for failure.

She'd likely be dead by weeks end. So she either had to figure out who these men were that stole the item... or.. find out what the item even was. She was instructed not to look at it.

If Only.. if only she could just drop off any package at the location...

Stupid fool that she was. She should have seen it, not ignored it but made a swap of the item BEFORE this even happened. So that way she'd have the real items stowed away safely... someplace else...


But it was far too late for that.

For now, she supposed She should be thankful she was alive. Her dark eyes observed her companion. She was only alive because of him.

He looked to be on pain.. and was noticeably shivering.  Sighing, she relinquished his jacket she had been wearing and draped it over his form. The morning air hit her and she winced at it. It was so damn cold. It'd likely be too damn hot later but now.. she tried to focus on the chill. It atleast was a distraction from the pain her entire body was experiencing. 

Sighing, she attempted to stand- each movement reminded her the weight of the pain that weighed her down. She barely got to her knees before she had to stop- rest.. and tried again.

The sun had began to rise, offering a small ray of warmth along with its yellow light. By then she had finally managed to stand, and took perch against a tree.

It took far to long for her to even stand up. How was she to even consider walking? But.. atleast she was able to do that. It meant her legs weren't broken- she wasn't sure that negligence was a mercy or something to add to her torture. The men should have finished the job.. they should have...

No.. she couldn't think that way. Wouldn't think that way. She had survived this long, hadn't she?

And Missendria wasn't dead yet.

[Nightcrawler]

Someone draped a blanket over him. He curled tighter into a ball. He was miserable. His cheeks were numb, it was freezing, and the bed was hard and lumpy, too, for whatever godforsaken reason. "Lyssy, close the damned window," he muttered. But instead of footsteps on wood, he heard gravel. A woman labored as she moved somewhere nearby. Oh. Right. Fuck. His eyes snapped open. It was finally morning.

Fletcher wedged his elbow and propped himself up. If he'd thought everything hurt last night, it was nothing compared to now. His whole body throbbed with cuts and bruises. Even just moving was an act of labor. He was famished, too. Finally, he managed to rise to his feet and stumble forward. He caught his coat as it fell off of him and donned it gingerly, buttoning it over the scraps that remained of his ruined shirt. Skippy leaned against a tree a short ways off. He limped towards her, wincing and swearing beneath his breath.

"Looks to me you're alive," he grunted at her as he approached. "You're welcome for that." He squinted in the sunlight, and his skin pulled shiny and taut over the bruises on his cheeks. "I need to, er, see a man about a horse. Don't go anywhere. It's time we have a little chat, you and I."

Fletch hobbled off into the bushes without waiting for her response. He stood there, staring out into the woods, listening to his stomach growl, and he thought about it all. He thought of everything this woman had dragged him through, and all of the terrible decisions she'd made. He began to fume as he did his business. By the time he'd buttoned up and headed back, he was awake and he was livid. He stopped a few feet away from her, set his hands on his hips, and glared daggers. He pointed an accusatory finger as he dressed her down.

"Right," he growled. "Now. I'm well done with being kept in the dark. And with being one step behind these goons. So you're going to tell me, from the top, who these men are and what in the bloody hell is happening here."

[visualspice]

Missendria considered running off- but it was a reflexive thought. She knew she wasn't going much of anywhere. 

Why were the pair alive? It was strange but perhaps the men would rather have her boss, the infamous Opus Dey, seal her fate. Ot they left her alive as a symbol.

When Fletcher returned, she could all but feel his anger, his irritation as he demanded truths of her. Did it matter now what she'd say? She supposed she owed him atleast the truth. 

So she stared at his finger, then up his ripped shirt ro his bruising neck and face. He might have duel shiners. And she she noted his state of wounds, she began to feel the sensations of her own.

Her face was swollen, movement reopened some fresh cuts that began to trickle blood- and were sharp reminders she was freshly healing. 
And despite it all, she... found herself smile.

It was a weak but genuinely freeing feeling to just.. accept to share the weight of.. well, all this, was someone else. 

"Well.. if it wasn't obvious- I've made mistakes."
The smile grew bitter but she kept her eyes on his, eyes growing glossy.

"They say a man can do foolish things when they're in love.. well.."
She shrugged- the very act itself was painful. "I was in love... and my jackass of a lover made some very terrible mistakes."

[Nightcrawler]

Skippy smiled. Fletcher scoffed. Really? Was she really smiling at a time like this? Had their attackers knocked a few more screws loose in her pretty little head? Unbelievable.

"Oh, mistakes, huh?" he snapped. "Is that what we're calling 'em? Like you've gone and done some little oopsie daisy? A mistake is when you forget your purse at home. We are beyond mistakes, sweetheart!" With every word he drummed up his own self-righteous rage, until by the end of it his voice rose sharply and he found himself yelling at her.

But Skippy kept going, and truthfully, he couldn't believe a damned thing he heard from her. He stopped, still heaving steam like a bull in the cold morning, finger raised and eyes bulging. "What?" he breathed. And then, to his own surprise, he started to laugh. It was the laugh a crazy man might make while he was dragged off to the dungeons. "You what?"

He rubbed his face with his palms, leaned back, and ran his hands over his hair in utter disbelief. He looked up at the sky. He breathed the crisp air. He took a little moment for himself. You know, to fully process what Skippy had just told him. He looked back down at her, hands clasped behind his neck, still smiling that smile: the one that was a warning.

"So," Fletch said, cool and conversational as you please. "Let me see if I've got this straight. Just, you know, putting the pieces together, love. You went — and shagged a man — who heads a gang, and then jilted him, and then went on about your business like it wouldn't catch up with you? Am I — am I hearing this right?" He scoffed again and muttered to himself. "Un-fucking-believable."

He dropped his hands to his sides again and faced her. "You," he growled, "owe me. You owe me. I have almost died trying to save your sorry arse from your own 'mistakes'. So what are you going to do about it? Ey? Just stand there and smile like some sniveling little tart until they catch up to you again? Until — "

He felt a catch in his throat and hacked violently into his sleeve. More blood. "Fuck," he muttered. He didn't have time for it right now. He spat it out to his side and kept on going like it hadn't happened. "Well?" he pressed her. "We need a plan. We at least need somewhere to hole up until these fucking wounds heal. So what'll it be?"

[visualspice]

Missendria winced at his words.  And then she was shocked by what he deduced and her pitiable smile vanished. Anger flared within her eyes as she turned on Fletcher, baring teeth.

"I did not do something so foolish as you deduced! It was stupid, but the man I thought I loved chose to get mixed in with a world renowned crime Lord.  One of the most feared men this side of the world! And if I hadn't stepped in.. they would have chopped off his head! Instead I.. I.." she choked on her anger, eyes welling into blinding tears.

"I just thought he loved me.." Her voiced cracked, she turned away, choking back her sobs.

"My life a slave so he could live..."

She was a fool.


"This.. job... was just one of many I have to do to repay my ex lovers debt... while he.. he's gone off with another woman."


She drew in a quivering breath and wiped angrily at her tears.

"And so this is just my everyday life."

She kept her face away from him, embarrassed at how much she was crying. 

She had never told a soul. Now.. well..

He deserved to know.

[Nightcrawler]

With Skippy's every whimper and sniffle, his expression hardened even further. He didn't know why he expected a woman to have a decent plan. He put his hands on his hips again and cocked his head while she went on about being in love. About being in a crock of shite that she very well lifted her skirts and hopped into herself.

"Oh, boo fucking hoo," he cried. "Really? And, what, you're just going to waste my time feeling sorry for yourself over it? Get over yourself. Love isn't real, cupcake. Sounds like your man knew it well as I do. Meanwhile, while you stand here blubbering and being useless, I'm caught with my trousers down in the middle of a bloody gang squabble. Are you seriously just going to cry about it instead of finding us a way out of this?"

[visualspice]

She couldn't believe  the audacity of this man.  The fire in her eyes were almost incinerators as she clenched her hands into fists.

"You asked me for my story!" She all but shrieked out. "Then you.. you.. you dared to take my words and interpret them at your own bloody will then act like my reaction to my owned pained past isn't warranted here!?"

Oh she had had enough. She was pissed and, despite the pain the fell on each step she took- she simply limped in a storm away from that God's forsaken chimney breathed man!

[Nightcrawler]

"I asked you to explain why in the hell we were attacked!" Fletcher shot back. "Not piss on about a man. I don't have time for this feelings shite. Not when both of our lives are in danger. OI! Get back here!" Mid-sentence, Skippy turned away from him and took off into the woods. "Errrghhh!" Fletcher growled. His face grew hot. She was really trying his fucking patience now. "Where do you think you're going?" he cried as he stomped after her. "You just going to run away from your problems, then, with half my bloody shirt on you, and cuts all over, and a bum leg? In the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?" He caught up to her and grabbed her roughly by the shoulder. "Do you have a fucking death wish, woman? What is wrong with you?!"

[visualspice]

And as she was forced to turn, she slapped him hard across the face.  Her entire complexion was red. Her eyes were swelled with tears and her entire being shook with such ferocity. And she tried to yank her damn arm away.

[Nightcrawler]

"Agh!" The smack fell right over his shiner. On pure instinct, Fletcher dug his fingers tighter into her shoulder and raised his hand to strike back. He stopped. What was he doing? He kept it there, held up in the air, like he'd frozen into a statue. Then, with a slow, shuddering exhale, he began to deflate. He lowered his arm to hang limp at his side. He loosened his grip on her. His face fell, too, and for one infinitesimal moment, guilt weighed on his features. "Look," he said, and he was calm again. "I'm sorry. Alright? I am. But you can't be running off in this state. We're stuck in this together, now, whether either of us likes it or not. So help me come up with a damned plan so we can fix it. Yeah? Don't just...fucking...abandon me to this."

[visualspice]

He may have deflated, but she was wound up tight. The second he loosened his grip she yanked herself free,spilling into a nearby tree and barely catching herself.

Pain surged up her leg, causing a bubbling scream to erupt from her throat. But it only added to her rising anger as she tried to walk away, stumbling from tree to tree before her leg gave out and she dropped in a sharp cry.