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badonk-writing-vault · 3 years

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Moments of Reprieve

“And you’re sure this place is secure?”

Dalton sighed when Randall went to check the curtain for the fifth time in two minutes. His anxiety was understandable given recent events, but Dalton been holding out hope that getting to the safehouse would’ve calmed him down. Given the tapping Randall’s fingernails were doing against the glass, he knew there would be no such luck.

“I’m positive,” he assured for what felt like the hundredth time that day while unzipping his suitcase and beginning the lengthy ordeal of unpacking all of their things-- God knew Randall wasn’t going to do it.

On the way up to the cabin he had entertained the thought of making Randall practice regular-people things, but seeing him on edge now, he decided against it. At least for the remainder of the day. He’d see how things were in the morning.

“Okay…”

Randall made no move to leave his spot by the window and Dalton shook his head.

“Y’know, keeping the curtains closed helps to keep yourself hidden.”

That pulled a small irritated sound from Randall’s throat but it also did the trick because he released the heavy fabric and smoothed it back over the window. Dalton had little time to celebrate the achievement however, because his charge was quick to turn around and ask him how long they would be needing to stay.

“Until Izzy sends us the all-clear. Could be days, could be months. So get comfy.”

A groan answered him and he rolled his eyes. Leave it to Randall to complain about being kept safe.

Granted, given the current state of the safehouse he supposed a small amount of complaining could be permitted, but only when it was being directed at the state of the place. Dalton knew it was probably difficult to remember to keep the maintenance up to date in a secluded place in the mountains, but the sheer amount of dust and dirt was ridiculous. Not to mention the fact that the food inventory was damn near expired and he’d already had to contact one of their operatives to bring them some things from the market. Grime he could handle, but that had just been unacceptable.

On top of all that, the power had been turned off for months which left the entire house a freezer. As it stood, he was genuinely surprised Randall hadn’t complained about the cold yet. It had become clear early on into knowing him that he hated any temperature that wasn’t nice and cozy, so it was odd that he had said nothing on the frigid state of the cabin. Even Dalton had begun to shiver, which meant Randall must have been miserable.

It was that thought that had him setting down a shirt into the nearest drawer that smelled of mildew and heading into the living area. From what he remembered the cabin had a fireplace. It would be irresponsible to start burning electricity now when the safehouse was known to be rarely lived in. He didn’t want to bring attention to the place but burning wood would be fine. They were deep enough in the forest that nobody would notice the smoke. Plus, if the weather forecast had been accurate and they were supposed to get snowed in, fire would become a necessity.

To his surprise when he walked out, Randall had beaten him to the task. Or rather, was attempting to.

Dalton stood there a moment, allowing himself to feel a smidge of amusement as Randall continually rearranged pieces of wood and kindling, trying and failing to get them to stay lit. Only when it looked like Randall might scream did he make his presence known by stepping up behind the smaller individual, his legs pressing against Randall’s back. A bout of tension ran through the man until he seemed to realize it was just his bodyguard, and he relaxed against the stability Dalton provided. Dalton felt triumphant over that small fact.

“Having problems?” Dalton smirked a touch and Randall huffed, handing him the matches.

“People make it look easy,” Randall grumbled, moving aside so that Dalton could take his place and get things situated correctly.

“It is easy.”

Dalton struck a match and let it catch on a fire starter, watching as the flames slowly licked at the kindling until a living fire was born. When he looked up Randall was frowning at him, then at the fire. It took a moment for Dalton to realize that the look was embarrassment.

“But it’s only easy when you know what you’re doing,” he amended and breathed an internal sigh of relief when Randall’s features smoothed over with an understanding that only seemed a little dubious.

“Right,” he intoned softly.

His attention was glued to the tongues lapping at the sap still clinging to the bark, its bubbling and popping growing louder under the building heat. The reflection of it turned Randall’s eyes into the brightest amber hue Dalton had ever seen and looking away from them took considerable effort.

The idea of snapping Randall out of his reverie ran by but Dalton ignored it in favor of watching him for a few more moments. He was sitting Indian-style, arms settled over his knees as he leaned forward to watch the fire grow. If it weren’t for the tight way he held his shoulders and the stiffness in his back, Dalton would have thought he’d finally relaxed. But no, he’d most likely decided to use the fire as a distraction from the paranoia and fear that had clung to him like a second skin since they’d left the Institute.

Dalton wished there was something he could say or do that would convince him that he was well and truly safe where they were. Surely Randall understood that he wasn’t about to let anything happen to him. Dalton thought he’d made that abundantly clear at that point that he would protect him no matter what. But then, maybe he hadn’t, because Randall was still so clearly on edge.

Pulling himself away from his observations, Dalton took an objective look around the cabin space. It wasn’t a huge thing; one floor, a bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen and living are, a storage closet, a laundry room and a shed. That was about it, as far as he could recall. And he only really remembered the shed because his ATV was in there and had been since the last time he’d stayed around.

It was homey, the cabin. Perhaps that was what set Randall off, kept him from relaxing fully and trusting the security. All he’d ever known was white walls and the smell of sanitizer, of being surrounded by people and noise no matter the time of day. Something like this was probably so foreign to him he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He was probably more stressed than he let on.

Dalton hummed quietly to himself and wandered into the kitchen to remind himself what was available in the dusty cabinets. The counters also had a fine layer of gray and he grabbed a rag that smelled of age from the nearest drawer and quickly wiped them down. He busied himself with small tasks like that until he had an array of cans stacked on the newly cleaned countertop. It wasn’t much. Some beans, veggies, fruits… enough for a few meals at best-- although even saying they could make a meal was being generous.

But he supposed Randall wouldn’t know the difference. He’d only recently been acquainted with solid food at all, so he’d be happy with whatever he got. Dalton took small comfort in that fact as he scoured the room for a can opener before he set about heating things up. He found silverware and bowls, gave everything a quick wash, and then brought the food into the living area which had warmed up to an acceptable temperature.

Randall hadn’t moved from his spot.

Dalton didn’t let the concern show on his face when he settled down beside him, nudging Randall’s knee with his own to get his attention before putting the bowl in his hands.

“Oh,” he mumbled, surprised, “Thanks.”

Dalton tried not to stare too much as his charge went about eating, spooning the sad bean and carrot mixture into his mouth slowly, as if unsure if it was safe to do so. And then, all caution abandoned it seemed, he shoveled it into his mouth as quickly as he could without drawing attention to the fact that he was clearly starving.

Dalton pretended not to notice as he ate his own food at a leisurely pace. There wasn’t much else he planned on doing for the rest of the evening after he got the suitcases emptied. He was too tired to start deep cleaning, and he didn’t think leaving Randall alone for a long period of time would be a good idea either. He’d made peace with the fact that he was going to be sitting out here with him for some time, probably well into the night. At some point he’d have to convince him to try and sleep, even if Dalton already knew it would be a futile attempt given how high-strung Randall clearly was.

For now, though, he’d just sit with him in companionable silence. Or at least, he would have if he hadn’t noticed the tremor in Randall’s hands when he nearly dropped his spoon while bringing it away from his mouth.

“Hey.”

He grabbed the nearly empty bowl from Randall’s hands --which were still cold-- and tilted his head until he could see his face. Randall swallowed hard and averted his gaze, looking back at the fire. The tremor was still present when Dalton slipped the spoon out from between his fingers and Randall quickly balled his hands in his lap.

“What’s wrong?”

Dalton watched his face carefully, catching the slight pinch of his brows when the question seemed to register.

“Nothing,” Randall stated, cold as his skin, “why would anything be wrong.”

It wasn’t a question and Dalton nodded slowly as understanding began to dawn on him. Or rather, a registering of what he’d already been aware of.

He grabbed Randall’s hands up, cupping them between his to warm them, which finally pulled the man’s attention back to his face. Dalton offered him a small, if sad, smile.

“I know this is a lot to get used to,” Dalton started, inching closer so that he was sharing some of his body heat with Randall, “but you’ll get there. It doesn’t have to be now-- I’m not expecting you to know what to do with yourself yet. But… do you trust me when I tell you you’re safe?”

“I…” Randall cut himself off and looked down at where his hands were trapped within Dalton’s. He didn’t try to pull away.

“I don’t not trust you. I believe you’ll try to keep me safe. But you can’t guarantee that nobody knows where to find us. You can’t know if we’re being tracked right now. I still have this thing in my head.”

Randall did pull a hands out from the cocoon Dalton had made then to dig his nails into the back of his neck where the scar was. Where the chip was. Dalton quickly snatched his wrist back before Randall could do any proper damage to the fragile skin again and brown eyes blinked in what looked to be disbelief.

“Izzy made sure the tracking feature was disabled. They can’t get to you with that. You know that.”

“I don’t know what I know anymore!”

Randall growled and glared at the fire once more, as if it was the source of all his anxieties. The statement was enough to upset Dalton. Randall wasn’t someone who ever questioned himself. Randall had always been the shithead who was confident in what he knew. He was someone who flaunted his intellect and skill and never worried about what others thought. He didn’t care about the problems of others, whether they liked him or not and he’d certainly never worried about his place in life because he’d known where he was supposed to be. And before a month ago, he’d never had to worry about anyone trying to kill him, either.

Now, it seemed that was all he could worry himself with. And Dalton couldn’t blame him. Everything he had been taught, raised on, and worked for, had turned out to be a lie.

“You don’t know anymore? Fine.”

Dalton scowled at that thought and grabbed Randall’s chin, gently guiding him back to face him.

“But I do.”

“Do what?”

“Know that I am never going to let anything bad happen to you. Not again. Anyone who thinks they can hurt you will have to go through me. If you don’t trust anything else, trust that.”

Any frustration on Randall’s face was replaced by wide eyes and a gasp of bewilderment. His fingers uncurled in Dalton's hand and he shook his head just a bit.

“But--”

“No buts,” Dalton shushed and to his surprise, Randall went silent. “I’ve already taken a bullet for you, remember?”

Randall’s eyes darted to where the lump of scar tissue hid beneath his shirt. Dalton nodded.

“You don’t think I’ll do it again?”

Randall said nothing to that.

He said nothing when he shifted so that his whole body faced Dalton and he got up on his knees. Nor did he speak when he grabbed the back of Dalton’s neck and pulled his face closer until there was no space between them at all. A small noise escaped into the room, but Dalton didn’t know who made it.

It was Dalton’s turn to be tense then, even as his own hands slid up Randall’s sides to hold his waist.

His brain had died and yet was running wild at the same time with thoughts of: Wait what? And I should have seen this coming. And Why am I not stopping this? And… and Oh. Oh, there we go. Randall pulled away just as Dalton began relaxing into the kiss and even though it had been short, his voice still came out breathless.

“I know you would. But if we’re being corny here, then I’d rather you didn’t.” Dalton couldn’t help but laugh.

“Fine, I won’t take a bullet. I’ll just kill anyone who tries to hurt you. Sound good?”

“Mm, okay.”

Randall finally smirked, the expression the most normal one Dalton had seen on his face all day and he wanted to kiss him for it.

And then he realized he could.

Dalton brought his hands to cup either side of Randall’s face, which was now warm with a blush, and he took a moment to brush over the scar at the base of his skull. Randall shivered and Dalton drew him close again, slotting their mouths together like he’d imagined doing so many times before and relishing the soft, content sigh that Randall released.

Time slowed in the next several minutes as they shared breath and ended up curled around one another on the floor. Randall had gotten himself settled beneath the shelter of his arms as Dalton leaned over him, peppering his face with quick kisses that made him squirm, the gentle kind of attention not something he was yet used to.

Dalton felt almost ridiculous, getting high on the feeling of Randall’s lips against his like some sort of lovesick teenager. That didn’t stop him from grinning when Randall swiped his thumb over his bottom lip, leaving it tingling. He nipped the tip of his nose in retaliation and Randall scoffed at that.

“If I’d known it was this easy to get you acting like an idiot…” He trailed off, sitting up to capture Dalton’s mouth again, which he allowed easily enough.

He was right, Dalton was acting like an idiot. After all, Randall was his charge-- he was supposed to have a purely professional relationship with him because anything less would consider him compromised. It was stupid, doing this, letting himself have what he’d been wanting since he’d first seen Randall for who he was and not what the Institute wanted him to be.

It was stupid. Idiotic. Quite possibly a mistake. But with Randall right there, smiling for the first time in days, softly laughing every time Dalton moaned or trailed feather-light touches across his collarbones, he decided he didn’t care.

If he could carve out even a moment of security for Randall by being an idiot, he would. He would do it over and over again until Randall realized that he was allowed to feel safe

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shannaraisles · 7 years

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Set In Darkness

Chapter: 17 Author name: ShannaraIsles Rating: M (for language) Warnings: Canon-typical injury and violence; injury to a child Summary: She’s a Modern Girl in Thedas, but it isn’t what she wanted. There’s a scary dose of reality as soon as she arrives. It isn’t her story. People get hurt here; people die here, and there’s no option to reload if you make a bad decision. So what’s stopping her from plunging head first into the Void at the drop of a hat?

A Start

Haven wasn't burning. The stables, on the other hand ...

A small crowd had gathered by the time Cullen and Rory reached the flaming building. The horses had been rescued, it seemed, the hostlers fighting to calm the beasts as the officers on duty shouted their men into forming a bucket chain from the lack to the crackling flames. Soot-stained workers were slumped by the collapsing building, some in tears, and as Rory pushed through the crowd at Cullen's back, she heard the screams from inside.

"There's someone in there!"

A man to her left grunted dismissively. "It's just a knife-ear brat," he told her. "Be grateful the real workers got out."

"What did you say?" Rory's tone was absolutely venomous as she turned on him, eyes blazing with fury. The man took an involuntary step back under her vicious glare, but she was distracted from giving him a piece of her mind by the unexpected sound of metal clanking behind her.

"Hold this." Cullen thrust his sword belt and mantle into her hands, the metal pieces of his armor discarded hastily to the soldiers around them.

"What?" Rory demanded, confused by his sudden disrobing in a public place. "What are you doing?"

"Setting an example."

He barely spared a moment to meet her eyes, breaking into a run from her side to duck under the burning lintel of the stable door. Panic gripped her as he ran, realizing too late what he intended. She screamed his name in fright as he disappeared among falling timbers and arcing flames, looking around wildly for someone to follow him, to stop him. No one moved from the crowd, the only motion coming from the men and women hauling buckets of water from the lake to douse the flames.

"Where are the mages?" Rory heard herself demand, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. "They could put this out easily!"

"Templars won't let them close, miss," Jim told her in a dark tone, his own eyes trained on the burning building. "Wait, is that a ...? There's someone there, quick!"

Her eyes snapped back to the stable, expecting - hoping - to see Cullen emerging from the flames unharmed. The screams from within had stopped, but there was no sign of the commander amid the haze of fire and dust. Oh, you stupid man, she railed inside her own mind. This isn't the kind of example I was talking about! At her side, Jim suddenly darted forward, braving the heat and falling debris to grasp hold of something beneath the fallen timbers of the stable wall. No, not something - someone.

Thrusting Cullen's belongings into the nearest pair of hands, Rory's feet were moving before her mind could tell her this was a bad idea. The heat was intense, dry, reaching out to stop her lungs with cloying smoke as she rushed to help. Coughing and spluttering, her eyes streaming, she skidded through the mud and ash to Jim's side, finding him struggling to free an elven man from the burning debris that had trapped his leg.

"You lift the wood, I'll pull him out," she rasped through the choking cloud that enveloped them, bending to hook her hands under the elf's slender shoulders as he reached to grip her elbows.

Jim flashed her a panicked glance, his instinct to help not enough to get through without orders. Looking around ferociously, he grabbed a spar that was not smouldering, forcing it beneath the timbers to try and lever them up. He pushed, Rory pulled, and the stable wall above them groaned ominously. But there was no time to be afraid of what would happen if it fell.

"Again," she ordered, taking a better grip on the elf in her arms.

Nodding in agreement, Jim pressed down on the spar in his grasp, sparks flying up from the burning wood to singe holes in clothing and sting flesh. Rory heaved on the elf as hard as she could, and blessedly, he came free, howling in agony as his foot dragged through naked flame. She stumbled backward, abandoning her grip as she tripped over what remained of the hitching post, sprawling back into the melting snow. Above them, the stable wall bowed, ready to collapse at any moment. She braced herself for the inevitable torment of a fiery death ... and started in shock as a spray of ice erupted over her head to steady the wall.

"Help them!" a familiar Orlesian voice snapped from somewhere behind her, and a moment later, hands were reaching to help her up, to lift the injured elf, to drag Jim away from the precariously braced building.

Two of the mages were dousing the flames with ice, and Leliana stood with them, her baleful glare directed at the templars who still thought they could object. Good luck with that, Rory thought to herself as she was pulled from danger, turning to drop down beside the elven man whose life Jim had just saved. He was unhurt, but for the fresh burns marring his right foot.

Cool it, clean it, cover it ... the words were right there in her mind, knowing the worst damage with burns often took place after the scorching element was removed. Burns just kept on burning, regardless of their proximity to the fire that had started them. His skin was raw and already blistering; as she pulled out her belt knife to cut away the remains of his footwraps, he tried to flinch away from her. Swallowing down her disgust at the stench of burnt flesh and leather, she gripped his ankle tight, ignoring his weak protests to do what had to be done. The thick wrappings were almost burned away, sticking to the rapidly rising blisters on the elf's heel and toes, but she had to remove them, regardless of how painful the process was. That done, she simply plunged his foot into the nearest snowdrift, packing it around the burned limb.

"All right," she assured him, breathless with the adrenaline rush as she let him clutch at her fingers. "Done for now. It's not as bad as it looks."

"My daughter," he moaned, tears in his eyes as, behind her, she heard the unmistakable sound of timbers collapsing.

She couldn't tell him his daughter would be fine, not when her throat was suddenly choked tight with terrified panic. Her head turned toward the stable, flinching in the blast of heat and dust that rolled out to them in the wake of the roof's collapse. Cullen ... no, no, no, this isn't supposed to happen! Don't you leave me too! Shades of the despair she had felt when Ria died threatened to flood in on her, clouding her mind, breaking her heart. Then she heard it.

"Commander ... it's the commander!"

Leliana's hand gripped her shoulder, turning her to where Cullen was emerging from the other side of the stable, cradling a young child in his arms. He was limping, sweaty, covered in soot and ash, and alive. Rory heard the elf beside her sob, barely aware that she, too, was crying with sheer relief. Men and women moved to intercept him, but Cullen shook them off, his eyes searching for ...

"Rory!"

He broke into an awkward run, favoring a right leg that was clearly carrying a burn of its own, sagging down into the snow beside her. "I found her under the water trough," he told her, gentle hands laying the limp form in front of the healer he trusted. "I don't think she's breathing."

"What?" The elven man - the girl's father - let loose a cry of anguish. "No! Ara!"

Wrenching her arm free of his grasping hand, Rory didn't hesitate. "Jim, keep him still," she ordered, glad to see the man move quickly to obey. "You, put snow on that leg."

This was to Evy, who had finally managed to reach the edge of the crowd, but she didn't need to look to know the younger woman was doing as she was told. As Evy packed Cullen's leg with snow, Rory's attention narrowed down to the little girl in front of her.

No obvious sign of injury, found in the safest place, low down, but even low, the oxygen will have been very thin ... Her fingers pressed to the carotid artery on the side of the child's neck, desperately hoping to find some sign of life. Cullen was right; the girl wasn't breathing, but there was a pulse. Intensive training kicked in, no need for conscious thought. She'd done this too many times to count, but never on a child.

Slithering to a better position beside Ara, heedless of the eyes watching her, Rory gently tilted the child's head back, opening her airway with practiced hands. Her fingers pinched the nose tight, opened the soot- and soil-stained mouth, and she leaned down, her mouth sealing over Ara's to blow a slow breath into the girl's lungs, her eyes watching to see the still chest rise. Drawing back, she grimaced at the smoke-laden breath that was pushed out, but bent to breathe for the girl again. And again. Five times she gave a rescue breath, pausing to check the pulse was still there before continuing. In a movie, there would be some sign of life by now, but reality didn't work like that. What I wouldn't give for a mask, a bag, and oxygen on tap ...

She was vaguely aware of the horrified curiosity around her - of Ara's father crying, of low voices praying, even as the soldiers continued to fight the fire that raged in the ruined stables with the mages to aid them. But she was focused on the child, breathing steadily for her, willing her to come back. It felt like an age, her own head growing light with a lack of air, but finally, blessedly, she heard that first intake of independent breath. The people around her saw the elven child's chest rise and fall on its own, a relieved cry going up from them even as Rory hastily pulled her into the recovery position. Not a moment too soon - the little girl heaved, throwing up into the snow, and over Rory's knee, with a mewling cry of shock.

"It's okay," Rory murmured to her, rubbing the child's back with a soothing hand. "You're all right, you're safe now."

She raised her head, meeting the shocked eyes of those around her wearily. Cullen was staring at her with something that might almost have been awe; beside him, Evy just looked stunned by what she'd witnessed. Ara's father was sobbing with relief, no longer fighting Jim's grip around his shoulders as he watched his daughter breathe against the healer's side.

"I need someone to collect some baskets of clean snow - leave them outside the clinic, we're going to need it," Rory heard herself say, and behind her, she heard Leliana choose a couple of people for the task. "Can someone help ..." She looked expectantly at the injured elven man.

He snorted back his tears, scrubbing at his sooty face. "Gareth, miss."

"Thank you - somebody help Gareth, the commander, and Jim to the clinic, please?" As hands reached down to help the injured up, she looked over to her shocked assistant. "Evy, run ahead to the clinic and brew some of the willow-bark tea for them, please. I'll bring Ara."

And so they did. No one was going to argue with someone who could bring a child back from the brink of death without even using magic. With Ara in her arms, Rory headed straight for the clinic, moving to tuck the child into one of the beds, making sure she stayed on her side. Gareth was installed in the bed beside his daughter's, his burned foot set securely in a bucket of snow that Evy volunteered to keep refreshing until they had drawn the heat out of his burns. Jim had only bruises and the occasional red pinprick where the sparks had hit him - he was released back to the community within minutes, to bask in the praise of his comrades for his bravery. And Cullen ...

"You are an idiot," Rory informed him sharply as she checked his injury. He'd been very lucky - it was a minor contact burn, already cool and safe to dress. "Who runs into a burning building?"

"If I hadn't, Ara would have died," he pointed out, wincing only a little as she dried the burn on his right shin after washing it with mint-water.

"You could have died!" she snapped at him.

A flicker of amusement played across his face. "Are you angry with me for saving a life?"

She glared at him, the fierce expression completely at odds with the gentle hands spreading ointment on his injury and dressing it in soft bandages. "I'm angry because you scared the shit out of me," she said though clenched teeth. "What were you thinking, you stupid man?"

This conversation was not going to convince Evy there was nothing going on between them, but Rory couldn't stop. She wasn't soon going to forget the way her heart had clenched with physical pain when he'd thrown himself directly into danger.

"I was trying to do the right thing," Cullen told her softly, soft enough that only she, sat so close, heard him. His hand closed over her knee, unable to reach her fingers to reassure her with touch. "Trying to be the man you deserve."

She rolled her eyes. "You are that man, you ..." A decent insult escaped her, tired after the excitement of the last hour. "... buffoon."

Her gaze flickered up to meet his almost shyly, a faint, fond smile playing over her face. She was proud of him, despite the scare; embarrassed that his heroics had revealed to a good many people how much he meant to her. That unseen smile of his was hers alone to enjoy, his eyes a-glow with an echo of the fondness she showed him. In spite of their lack of privacy, with Evy, Gareth, and Ara right there with them in the clinic, this was a moment that belonged to them, charged with an aching intimacy that somehow transcended the need for words.

"Is buffoon the best you can do?" he asked in a teasing tone.

"I don't think very well when I've had a scare," she informed him, knowing perfectly well that insulting him was the farthest thing from her mind.

"What about fool?" he suggested, squeezing her knee before drawing his hand back, uncomfortable with being seen to offer affection.

"Or cretin," Evy offered, from where she was changing the snow packed around a silently chortling Gareth's foot.

"Dimwit?" a small, hoarse voice piped up - Ara, awake and alert, contributing to the conversation with a shy grin.

"Dimwit's good," Rory agreed, just to see the child's grin widen. "You're a dimwit, commander."

Cullen laughed quietly, startling Evy and Gareth with the unexpected sound of mirth from a man they hadn't really thought was capable of laughing. "I'm so glad we have that sorted out," he chuckled as Rory rose to her feet.

"It's very important to get the syntax right when you're insulting someone," she told him with merry humor, her temper restored with just a little reassurance that he was hale. "But don't worry - we will all keep the secret that you are a closet dimwit."

"My gratitude is overwhelming," he drawled, lowering his feet to the floor as little Ara giggled into her blankets. "Anything else?"

The urge was there, and this time Rory didn't fight it. She leaned down to him, fingers stroking his cheek with a tender touch, and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, so quick he didn't have the opportunity to answer it. "And you're a hero," she told him, utterly charmed by the disbelieving delight in his eyes. "Now go back to work, I have things to do."

She felt his eyes on her as she slipped out of the clinic, suppressing the urge to squeal excitedly. All right, so it wasn't the kiss she wanted ... but it was a start.

#set in darkness #multi-chapter fic #cullen rutherford/original female character #cullen rutherford/rory allen #rory allen #cullen rutherford #jim #evy trevelyan #stables on fire #burns #injuries #rescue breathing #kiss of life #hero cullen #firefighter!cullen #first kiss #bit pathetic #but definitely the first kiss

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