Chapter Eighteen....Wounded (continued)
She nodded to the men that had brought him. Nodded at Illyrius' instructions. Set everything in order after they left
with steady hands. Never - quite - looking at her husband.
Careful, she set the bowl of water on the table next to the bed. Looked down at it. Seeing - nothing reflected in its
surface.
Wash his face. She should - wash his face. His hands. She dipped a slim hand into the water. And a shudder
washed through her. Shook her so bad that she dropped the towel she'd been holding across her elbow. And
thought - I can't. Raising her eyes to the ceiling, she thought - I can't do this.
I can't live without him.
There was so much she should do.
And only one thing she really wanted.
Turning she slipped carefully on to the bed next to Hector, mindful of his wounds, the aches. Gentle, barely there,
she lay down next to him on her side, facing him. Slipping her fingers through his and rested her chin lightly against
the side of his shoulder.
Hector didn't move as she laid beside him, didn't respond to her holding his hand. Every now and again he'd groan
or moan, or mumble something incomprehensible. But, at least he was breathing.
He didn't wake when Astyanax cried, or when Andromache got off the bed to tend to him. His mother came in to
take the baby for a while, and worriedly stroked her eldest son's face, too warm for her liking. He didn't notice it at
all.
Many hours later, his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he groaned. Then his eyelids parted a bit and he
went to sit up, grimacing as it ended up being a hopeless endeavor right now. He had to place where he was at
first, last thing he knew he was on a canvas sling between two horses entering Troy. But he slowly recognized the
bedroom in his apartments. He turned his head and saw Andromache again beside him. He reached out to touch
her hair, but pulled back, seeing it still splattered and spattered with long dried blood.
He cleared his throat, it was so dry, as was his mouth.
She hadn't been idle. Just - minimal. Cool cloths for Hector's warming skin regularly changed. Gentle sight only
exams of the bandages that she had to force herself to stop doing every five minutes. Astyanax... so small... But
most of her time was spent barely there at her husband's side. It wasn't rest. But it was a stillness that seemed to
hold the world at bay. And the only important thing in that stillness was the shallow rise and fall of her husband's
breath. As long as it continued so could her own.
And every time it faltered or hesitated, her heart shuddered in her chest.
She watched his eyes open. Hours, days? later. Thought, for a moment, that it was the battle still going on in his
head. The one that slipped out in his vague words and had his body tensing from time to time for no apparent
reason. She rested a hand across his chest, careful of the bandages, afraid that even her light touch could hurt
him more but he gave up the struggle to move before she had to apply any pressure at all. And she watched as he
blinked, focusing on first the ceiling and then turning his head to look at her.
Terrified that now was the time for those last whispered words the bards were so fond of putting in the mouths of
dying heros.
Instinctively she was moving even as his throat cleared. Sitting up and shifting to find the cup of water Hecuba had
actually left for her and she had left untouched. Emotions trapped in a frozen moment. Which let her hand stay
steady as she picked up the water and moved back to gently slip her free hand under his head. Murmuring the
same soothing pointless words she did when Astyanax was restless.
"Just a little at first." she murmured, lifting his head enough to keep him from drowning on the water she let slip into
his mouth. Watching the way moving his head might move the bandages and careful of it. Knowing that blood was
liquid and he'd lost - so much of it. The cup in her hand shook violently but didn't spill its liquid onto him and then
steadied. "Take your time."
He coughed, but managed to drink some of the water, then pushed her hand away when he had had enough.
Then, whether his body really liked it or not, he was sitting up. A few groans and determined grimaces later he had
managed to slide himself up, Andromache's anxious hands hovering near by.
Hector looked down at himself. Dammit. And he had been doing so well in not letting her see him covered in blood.
And what made it worse was that it was his blood, not some unseen enemy's for the most part.
He looked at his wife, her face still creased with worry and fear and he hated that. He hated that he had caused it.
He had no idea how long he had been out, how long she had had to go through this. He ignored the pain shooting
through his body and smiled a little at her.
"Told you I was still here." He murmured, remembering that part on the canvas at least.
Her throat felt raw. As if the screaming inside her had been physical instead of trapped deep down where it couldn't
be heard. He shouldn't be sitting up. She knew it. And also knew what it felt like to lay on your back with only the
ceiling to stare at, feeling useless and helpless and weak. So she didn't protest when he shifted, even though the
angles of her face became even more prominent. Instead she simply piled pillows behind him so that when he was
as upright as he wanted he could rest back against them. Chest aching where her heart was.
Her lips curved for him when he teased but she lowered the lids of her eyes, hiding what they held from him.
Because the fear and the emptiness hadn't loosened their grip on her and her throat was too tight to trust to talk.
Her heart was too tight to think of a light, teasing answer anyway.
Instead she concentrated on what needed to be done, laying a cold hand against his forehead to check the
stubborn heat.
"I should clean you." she could managed that without her voice shaking. Even if her throat closed over immediately
afterward. She - hadn't been able to before. Twisting where she was sitting she reached for the damp cloth she'd
left in the bowl next to the bed.
She hadn't been able to before because -
because - her hands shook violently and she wrapped them tightly around the cloth so he wouldn't see. The only
time she'd washed bodies before that were laying stretched out and unmoving on a bed had been for funeral rites.
And she couldn't... just couldn't.
"Andromache..." He said, watching her. "You don't have to..." He dropped his own eyes to his hands and started to
rub the dried gore off them, hating himself right now that he had condemned her to this kind of life, this kind of fear.
Had he been a better man, he probably would have let her marry the Spartan merchant and live in peace. She
would have been content.
But what could he say? That this wasn't so bad? He wasn't an idiot and he knew she wasn't either. He certainly
couldn't make the joke 'you should have seen the other guy,' Hades protect and guide his spirit.
"I'll be fine." He assured her. He was alive, so that was at least one he could keep through pure stubbornness if he
had to.
"Let me." she caught one of his hands in both of hers. As long as she had something to do, something to keep her
hands and mind busy, she'd be all right. She could do this if she - she lowered her head, turning her face away
from him so that she could swallow against her tightening throat. The healer's whispers of 'infection' and 'fever' in
her ears again.
One of her hands still holding his, unconsciously as tightly as if to let go would lose one of them for eternity, she
reached over with her other hand. Brought the bowl and cloth back to rest on the bed.
"Oliva had her baby while you were gone." she started quietly, eyes on what she was doing as she dampened the
cloth, other hand still fiercely clinging to his as if she'd forgotten and might never let go. "Its another girl."
He nodded and watched her wash his other arm with her free hand as she gripped his hand in hers. "Maybe she'll
be less cranky now." That half sister of his was miserable when pregnant. Hopefully this time she'd space out the
next kid, give them all a little peace.
It didn't go unnoticed by him her avoidant glance, what she was doing. Once his arm was done, he took the cloth
from her and washed off his face. "I think," he said slowly, he could never lie to her or hide what was going on
inside his mind for long. "No, I know. I have to apologize for my selfishness." But he had just loved her so much the
thought of her being across the sea in Greece married to another man wasn't something he could live with. But
maybe he should have.
She looked at him then, the surprise making it possible without the force of what she had to lose striking her hard
enough to shatter the calm she was trying so desperately to hang on to. Met his eyes with her own wide ones.
Confused.
And she saw the pain, the torture in his own dark eyes. Reacted with a stifled panic. No idea what he was talking
about or why it would cause his soul so much pain. Being wounded was hardly his fault. She had almost lost him.
Might still lose him. What could be worse than that - that he'd feel the need to apologize?
oh gods.. she thought, eyes widening in spiking fear as she covered her mouth with a bloody hand. Don't tell me
he's taken a lover. Don't tell me this now. Not a deathbed confession. Heart shuddering in her chest, she shook
her head. Only able to imagine one thing he'd ever have to apologize to her over.
He studied her face, saw the panic and the despair and cupped her face with his now clean hand. "I should have
let you live your life in Greece." This was why she had been so adamant about not marrying a soldier. Because of
what had happened to him today. Or maybe it was yesterday, he had no idea how long he was out, and he would
never ask her.
But he couldn't have bore it if he had been too late, if he hadn't been able to change her mind, if she had married
Akakios. On the other hand, what right did he have to put her through this?
He took the hand off her mouth and washed it off. His own hands had been bloodied by countless anonymous
men's blood. But her hands should never have been covered with his.
She couldn't take his gentle touch. The sweet, caring feel of his hands on her. It was unknotting all the fragile nets
she'd woven against the raging ocean inside her. Silently offering his strength and the safety of his love when she
shouldn't be burdening him with something she'd promised herself would never be a weight for him. The tears filled
her eyes again and she fought them. Trying to understand what he was saying. Because - that didn't sound like
another woman. It didn't make any sense at all and her mind, storm tossed, wasn't helping her. She shook her
head again. Not understanding.
"But you don't like Greece." she managed, voice coming out confused through her tight throat.
"I know." He said. He'd spent enough time there for a lifetime when he was receiving his schooling, all that training
that had led to this moment that was tearing him apart. Greece wasn't a bad place, it just wasn't Troy. And for
Hector that was enough to not want to live there.
"But I've condemned you to a life where Every time I leave, you fear you'll be a widow. You never would have had
that with Akakios." He said, leaning his head back on the pillows she had carefully stacked behind him and closing
his eyes briefly until he heard her sharp intake of breath at that and he opened them again for her.