Face to Face With Your Demons

Deimos' one open eye lifted from the ground at his feet when he felt Ikigai's delicate, dexterous paw on his chest. Visible confusion crossed his face as he watched her, holding still as she brought a rag to his face. The rag and her paw that was holding it disappeared from his limited field of view, but it was quickly followed by a reminder of the deep lacerations that ran across the side of his face. The touch of her cleaning of his wounds stung horribly, but he did little more than grimace and kept himself from flinching away. He was too astounded by her willingness and ability to come to his aid despite the fact that he had given her every excuse to break off this arrangement and find far better for herself. Instead, she was here giving him the gift of her talents and skills as a healer to tend to the wounds he received as punishment for hurting her and doing her wrong. It was a selflessness that he couldn't comprehend even in his most aware and able minded state—much less when he was battered, hung over, and woozy from blood loss.

Her words only shocked him further as she insisted that he was in fact her mate and that her tending to him was her responsibility, but not just a responsibility but a right. It felt so inconceivable in his mind that she not only was willingly staying in their relationship, but that this was something she was somehow almost defensive over—as if his suggestion that someone else care for his wounds to spare her having to be near him so soon after the crime he committed against her was somehow offensive to her. He watched her as she worked to clean away the blood from his amethyst fur, quietly considering her for a moment. There was some small part of him, a much smaller and quieter voice now that he wasn't under the influence of the alcohol or so hot off of the incessant pressure from his sister, that still felt a hint of something akin to jealousy toward her. She didn't feel real in the way that she continued to hold herself with such perfection and grace despite the circumstance, putting everything aside for the commitment and the promise that their relationship brought for their families. He had always hoped to find someone that he could at least view as worthy of him, but now he wondered if perhaps he had shot too high and found someone far superior to himself in every conceivable way.

It was a thought that he would have to accept and adjust to, but if she was unwilling to give up on him then he owed it to her to do the same. Whether he was striving to not give up on their relationship or himself he wasn't sure, but he felt like he owed her both of those things. Just as she was pulling the now blood-soaked rag away and was about to shift away to get her other supplies, he lifted his large, bear-like paw toward his chest, catching her delicate paw that had been resting there and placing his paw over hers, holding it against his chest for a moment while his still singular, squinting gaze found her unique, silvered gaze. "Let me make it up to you," he pleaded quietly, his voice still a low, rough rumble, clearly showing the strain on his body both from his own self inflicted ailment and the wounds that Alastor had left behind. "I know I can't undo what I did, but..." He gave her paw a gentle squeeze, his touch so drastically different than it had been the night before—far more akin to the tenderness he had shown her their first night together. "I want to be who you deserve."

"Deimos Medacium"