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“How long have you been like this?”
You cross the room in a matter of moments, sinking down onto your knees. You daren’t touch him, not yet. Not until you are sure that your touch will be welcome.
Sergei lies curled up at the centre of a mound of throws and blankets, all past hunts, not a single scrap of manmade fabric in sight. His brow is furrowed, little wrinkles of pain around his eyes and mouth as he curls tightly into a ball, bare skin covered in a light sheen of sweat despite the chill in the air.
Blue eyes creep open and you feel your heart breaking. Sergei reaches for you with unsteady hands, flinching as he encounters the woollen fabric of your dress instead of bare skin.
“I’ll take it off in just a moment, Sergei. It’s too cold out here for me. Let’s get you to the bedroom, hm? Can you tell me what happened, darling?” You wince as the term slips from you without meaning to. Sergei has never been a fan of being babied outside of your little sessions as you have taken to calling them for a lack of a better word. He’s so used to being in charge, to being the one who fixes things, to being someone worthy of looking up to, that slipping into that kind of headspace where he gives up control and allows himself to be soft isn’t easy for him. It’s why the two of you don’t do it nearly as often as you would like — nor as often as you know, deep down, that he would like.
He makes it to his feet slowly, wincing as the low afternoon sunlight catches him just so. You press one of the furs to his chest, waiting until he curls around it protectively, before you drape a second over his head, shielding him from the worst of the light. Skin on skin would be better right now, but until you have him in the bedroom, furs will have to do.
“There’s my good boy. Not far to go,” you murmur, guiding him carefully.
“Too much.” His low, rumbling voice is barely loud enough for you to hear, but you let out a low hum of your own to let him know that you have heard him. The walk to the bedroom isn’t far, the door closing behind you with a click. You note the way that Sergei flinches, even that sound too much for him to bear.
Guilt gnaws at you. You knew when he came back from his last hunt that something wasn’t right. Too many days away, too long under cover, no satisfied smirk or quietly whispered story of success as the two of you lay beneath the stars and got reacquainted. You should have known better than to leave him alone, to go about your day as usual, while he slept in following your rather enthusiastic reunion. Sergei never sleeps in.
“Have you eaten anything today? Or drunk anything?” He doesn’t need to say a word for you to know what that expression means. It wouldn’t surprise you if he doesn’t realise nearly a day has passed since his return. “You really are in a bad way, aren’t you, sweetheart? It’s going to be okay.”
You brush back a sweat-soaked curl as he sits on the edge of the bed, eyes following you like a hawk. They’re unfocused, you realise, taking in the hazy edge to his gaze. It’s as if he is not fully aware of what you are doing, yet knows that you are still here. That you are someone he can trust.
“I’m going to get some supplies real quick,” you begin to say, and he lets out a broken whine beneath his breath. You reach for him, hands carefully moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his head back so that he can look you in the eyes. “I need you to be a good boy for me and to stay here. Can you do that for me, Sergei? Practice your breathing for me. Nice and deep. In for three, hold for three, out for three. Practice with me.”
You smile at him, soft and encouraging, as he copies your movement, hand resting on your bare chest where you have tugged the neckline of your dress as low as you can to allow him access.
Lips press against his forehead. “That’s it. That’s my good boy. You are doing so well for me, Sergei. Keep going. I will be back shortly.”
A list already beginning to form in your mind, you move quickly, knowing that Sergei will only start to spiral again if you leave him alone for too long. Water, fruit, nuts, and the last of the good cheese, you know that Sergei likes to pretend he got for you, but you know it's his favourite. Loading everything up onto a tray, you make your way back, the unease in your chest settling as you see Sergei exactly where you left him; shoulders hunched up a little higher, his hands trembling against his lap, but still practising his breathing.
Placing the tray down, you are quick to strip off your own clothes, leaving yourself bare. His gaze remains locked on the floor as you approach, the chilled air sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin.
Your shared bed is a huge thing. Big enough to sleep three with room to spare. Coaxing Sergei to join you isn’t hard. Slipping beneath the furs, you leave one corner peeled back, murmuring soothing words as Sergei crawls up the length of the bed to rest between your spread thighs, his cheek pressing against your chest, ear resting over your heart. You can feel the tension beginning to ebb out of him as he lets himself rest against you; shoulders relaxing, body going limp. You run your fingers through his hair, murmuring low, soothing, nonsense words, your other hand carefully draping across his eyes to keep out the worst of the light.
Through the glass walls of the dome you can see as the sun begins to lower below the treeline. Sergei isn’t asleep, but he’s calm. Calmer than earlier, at any rate. “I know you aren’t feeling great, but I need you to drink something for me.”
He lets out a displeased grumble as you try to get him to sit. It’s only through sheer perseverance and repeated gentle, then not so gentle prodding that you finally get him mostly sitting, your back pressed firmly to the headboard as he half sits, half sprawls across you like some big contented cat.
The first few sips are always the slowest. Sergei winces as they go down, clearly not wanting to accept even that much. Once it seems to register just how thirsty he is he takes the glass from you without further prompting, steadily draining it, and a second soon after. Food is much the same; lips press firmly together, blue eyes peering up at you through lowered lashes as if that will be enough to get him out of the inevitable. Stroking his cheek gently, you reach for the platter of snacks, grabbing a cube of cheese as an opening bribe. You can tell from the look that he sends you that he knows precisely what you are doing, despite the overwhelming, floating feeling that still prevails.
“I’ve got you. Everything is going to be okay.”
Twilight fades and stars come out to share their twinkling light. You manage to coax Sergei to eat a little over half of the tray before his eyes start to become more focused, his breathing evening out. You run your fingers through his hair, combing out knots and untangling little sweaty clumps here and there.
His arm tightens around your midsection, drawing you closer, squeezing just on the wrong side of too tight. You suppress your wince as you reach for his cheek, gently stroking it as those hazy eyes finally focus on you.
“Hey there. Back with me, love?”
“I’m sorry.”
You don’t let him lower his head. “Hey, we’ve been over this before. There is never any need to be sorry for needing help. Especially if you feel like you’re getting overwhelmed or are dropping. I need you to tell me when you aren’t feeling good, Sergei; I’m not a mindreader. If I had known you weren’t feeling good, I could have stayed.”
“I didn’t want to disrupt your day.”
“You wouldn’t have. You are more important than anything else I wanted to get done today. I think that maybe next time you come back from a hunt, I should check in with you for the first few days.”
“I’ve been doing this for a long time. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Nobody is saying that you do. But you don’t need to deal with feeling overwhelmed and overloaded all by yourself. Just because you can, doesn’t mean you should,” you say firmly, holding his chin in place. You don’t loosen your grip until he hesitantly meets your gaze. “If you can tell me while looking me in the eye that you wouldn’t tell me the same exact thing if the situations were reversed, then I’ll drop it.”
He doesn’t say a word.
The ghost of a smile twitches at the corner of your lips. “That’s what I thought.”
He swallows hard, clearly contemplating his words. Tongue darting out to wet his lips, at last, he speaks, his words halting and unsteady. “I don’t want you to think I’m weak. That I can’t handle…”
“That you can’t handle trying to single-handedly save people from the kinds of bad guys nobody else goes after? That you do your best to find those villains so deep in the shadows the ‘real heroes’ don’t know they exist?”
It’s been a point of contention ever since he revealed his line of work. You have no issue Sergei’s hunts; quite the opposite, in fact. As far as you are concerned, Sergei is doing the world a service in clearing out the darkest recesses of the underworld. That a handful of heroes would dare to call him a villain is what bothers you. At least Sergei has morals. At least he is willing to do what needs to be done, rather than keeping the cleanliness of his hands at the forefront of his mind.
“That something as mundane as someone’s perfume can give me a migraine, or a bright light at the wrong time is as bad as being blinded, or the sound of someone three floors away sneezing is enough to wake me up sometimes.” Sergei sounds bitter, his voice gravelly and low. Your heart aches for him. You wish there was some way to help him get a better handle on his gifts. Perhaps there would be, if he wasn’t so determined to do everything on his own.
“Coming back to your own space after that must be a relief,” you say and it clicks. Eyes widening, your stomach drops. Sergei has lived alone in these woods for well over a decade. The man clearly values his privacy. Have you been ruining that for him all of this time?
You swallow hard, watching him carefully for any hint of deception. “Is that why… would it be better if I wasn’t here when you get back? From your next hunt. I could leave—”
A broad palm wraps around your wrist, holding you tight with a bruising grip. Unblinking gold eyes meet yours. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“I’m in your space. Making noises, and smells, and—”
Laughter cuts you off. Strong arms bracket you as he crawls up the last few inches to hover above you, pressing his lips to yours. “It wouldn’t be the same without you here. Not anymore. You help ground me.”
Relief settles in your chest, warm and welcoming. You aren’t sure what you would have done if Sergei had told you to leave; it’s not as if you know how to navigate your way back to civilisation from here. Without Sergei’s guidance, you would be well and truly lost.
“Good. In that case, I take it that you will have no objections to receiving aftercare next time you go off on one of your hunts.” He frowns, starting to shake his head, but you don’t let him finish. “It’s non-negotiable. You need to be cared for sometimes, and I need to do the caring. It’s a match made in heaven. Or at least it will be, if we can both agree to ask the other for what we need, when we need it.”
“I am trying.”
“I know you are, love. I know you are.” Your mind flicks back to the single time you had the misfortune of meeting Sergei’s father. It’s no wonder he has such trouble admitting to what could be seen as a weakness. That man is something else. “I want you to keep trying. That’s all I ask, love.”
Sergei shifts so that he is sitting next to you on the headboard, cheek resting on the top of your head. You let out a little huff of laughter, shaking your head as he pulls you to his chest, offering you comfort. You relax into his hold, willing to let him squirm his way out of things for now. He can’t resist being your protector, no matter how much he needs care and protection at times, too. At least he is showing some improvement. The Sergei you knew a year ago would have refused to come home when he was this close to feeling overwhelmed.
Baby steps. We’ll get there. Together.