She trusts him and she fears him, that much has been true since she arrived. The tension that ripples through his muscles, that rests heavily in the space between them. Gilgamesh doesn't push her away, doesn't rebuke her. No, but he turns away all the same. Why does that hurt-- it hurts differently, but it hurts. An ache that blooms, spreads through her ribs. For as much as the little dog longs to throw herself to his side, curl up, refuse to let go and take what consequences may come... no. The desire is selfish, and she will bite it back.
More tender than clinical, Jael stitches the wound as an artisan not a healer. The stitches are careful, tidy, as she coaxes the wound closed. Jael moves as she does, taking all the care in the world. Loyal like a dog, though she wears guilt like a yoke around her neck. Jael caused this. Her chest ached from the weight of it all.
As her keepers, Gilgamesh and Modesty may join any of Jael’s threads if they deem necessary.
Professor
