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Febuwhump day 5 catchup post: Rope Burns
Also don't miss that I posted another just a few hours ago, Hostage Situation.
The Febuwhump just keeps coming.
Day 5: Rope Burns
Biggles & EvS, 560 wds
"It's tight," Bigglesworth said, as Erich shifted his aching shoulders and leaned forward. "Just a minute, I'll have these off."
Erich's hands had passed through pain into nearly merciful numbness, but he was aware of the sharp snick of the knife, followed by the sudden sharp rush of returning blood. He gasped a little in reaction. Bigglesworth helped him stand up with a light hand on his arm. He swayed a little -- his legs were cramped, too -- and then got his balance, vigorously working his shoulders and stretching his arms despite the pain. He knew it would be better in the long run.
"We were held up a bit," Bigglesworth said. He folded the knife and returned it to his pocket.
"I shouldn't complain; I had little to do but wait in the dark." Erich smiled slightly. "I wasn't mistreated in particular. You need have no concerns on that score."
"May I see your hands?"
He had no reason to refuse, except that he knew the marks of his struggles to free himself would be written plainly upon his wrists -- and he knew what Bigglesworth was astute enough to read there: the fear, the futility, the final defeat.
But it was a fair question, because he would be little use without functional hands. And he wanted to look himself. His hands felt thick and mitt-like, lit up with sensation like a horde of bee stings. If Bigglesworth hadn't been here, he would have been flexing and testing them, checking for lasting nerve damage.
So he took it as an order and held out his hands. He had a brief flash of being a schoolchild extending his hand for punishment; he shook it off. They looked bad, swollen and purplish, extremely displeasing to the eye. But when Bigglesworth took his right hand carefully, fingers cupped gently beneath the swollen and abused fingers. Erich found that the puffy, hot flesh still had most of its normal sensation.
"Can you feel this? Can you move your fingers?"
"Yes," he said to both questions, and obediently, if painfully, curled his fingers. He could not quite make a fist yet, but he came close.
Flexing his hand rode up the cuff of his sleeve, exposing the rope burns and the bloody, abraded flesh. Bigglesworth hesitated, still cupping Erich's hand carefully.
Erich didn't know if speaking would make it worse. Finally he looked up from his hand, where Bigglesworth was lightly running a thumb beside the abraded skin of his wrists, to meet the expressive hazel eyes. "You see, I did try to escape in your absence. I simply wasn't very good at it."
Bigglesworth didn't answer for a moment. His slim, deft fingers curled gently around Erich's abused wrists, like a protective cage. Then he said abruptly, with a sideways smile, "You are very good at escaping, as I know all too well. Algy and the others never hesitate to tell me so. But I shall not be so late next time and make you wait. Do you want to leave here? We have antiseptic and painkillers back at the 'plane, and I feel we should be getting on."
Erich nodded, only to find himself still a little unsteady on the stairs. But when the slight yet strong figure shored him up, and an arm went around his waist, he found that he didn't mind at all.
The Febuwhump just keeps coming.
Day 5: Rope Burns
Biggles & EvS, 560 wds
"It's tight," Bigglesworth said, as Erich shifted his aching shoulders and leaned forward. "Just a minute, I'll have these off."
Erich's hands had passed through pain into nearly merciful numbness, but he was aware of the sharp snick of the knife, followed by the sudden sharp rush of returning blood. He gasped a little in reaction. Bigglesworth helped him stand up with a light hand on his arm. He swayed a little -- his legs were cramped, too -- and then got his balance, vigorously working his shoulders and stretching his arms despite the pain. He knew it would be better in the long run.
"We were held up a bit," Bigglesworth said. He folded the knife and returned it to his pocket.
"I shouldn't complain; I had little to do but wait in the dark." Erich smiled slightly. "I wasn't mistreated in particular. You need have no concerns on that score."
"May I see your hands?"
He had no reason to refuse, except that he knew the marks of his struggles to free himself would be written plainly upon his wrists -- and he knew what Bigglesworth was astute enough to read there: the fear, the futility, the final defeat.
But it was a fair question, because he would be little use without functional hands. And he wanted to look himself. His hands felt thick and mitt-like, lit up with sensation like a horde of bee stings. If Bigglesworth hadn't been here, he would have been flexing and testing them, checking for lasting nerve damage.
So he took it as an order and held out his hands. He had a brief flash of being a schoolchild extending his hand for punishment; he shook it off. They looked bad, swollen and purplish, extremely displeasing to the eye. But when Bigglesworth took his right hand carefully, fingers cupped gently beneath the swollen and abused fingers. Erich found that the puffy, hot flesh still had most of its normal sensation.
"Can you feel this? Can you move your fingers?"
"Yes," he said to both questions, and obediently, if painfully, curled his fingers. He could not quite make a fist yet, but he came close.
Flexing his hand rode up the cuff of his sleeve, exposing the rope burns and the bloody, abraded flesh. Bigglesworth hesitated, still cupping Erich's hand carefully.
Erich didn't know if speaking would make it worse. Finally he looked up from his hand, where Bigglesworth was lightly running a thumb beside the abraded skin of his wrists, to meet the expressive hazel eyes. "You see, I did try to escape in your absence. I simply wasn't very good at it."
Bigglesworth didn't answer for a moment. His slim, deft fingers curled gently around Erich's abused wrists, like a protective cage. Then he said abruptly, with a sideways smile, "You are very good at escaping, as I know all too well. Algy and the others never hesitate to tell me so. But I shall not be so late next time and make you wait. Do you want to leave here? We have antiseptic and painkillers back at the 'plane, and I feel we should be getting on."
Erich nodded, only to find himself still a little unsteady on the stairs. But when the slight yet strong figure shored him up, and an arm went around his waist, he found that he didn't mind at all.
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I love Erich going 'I'm fine, no need to worry about me' and how Biggles quite correctly reads that as 'there is something wrong' and zeroes in on it. Biggles gently looking after Erich's hands while Erich is struggling to recognise Biggles's kindness - interpreting the request as an order! holding out his hand like a schoolboy to be punished! his self-deprecation about his escape attempt! - but gradually relaxes into it and lets Biggles help and praise him <333
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*face down in feelings* <3333333333333
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