The jolt within the pit of her stomach as she watched him stumble towards the beside was wrought with hatred that flared with such toxic concern she could have sworn she’d swallowed poison; the very same that might have sought to tether her to Julian in the first place. “What?” Brow furrowed as she cast a look pitted in uncertainty, he’d come all this way and not thought to seek medical attention for himself before anything else? It seemed wholly unlike the man she’d come to know, every move — every motive overshadowed by some sense of self gain. Not nearly foolish enough, it only left her with more questions than it did answers and doe hues lingered with a branded apprehension that’d found her years prior. Trust was fickle well before he’d wrapped her heart in betrayal. “Julian, you need to see someone.” The bed frame shook slightly beneath his tightened grip and despite the poison hope that bloomed in her chest in the possibility of his own injuries running far deeper than they looked, Nic limped the few steps it took to press her hip into the frame just a few feet shy of where he stood. Not nearly to appease his showing up anymore than it was to offer some sense of weight lifted from the ache in her leg.
Hues traced the defiantly mottled shades of bruising that purpled across his face, I got stuck in the atrium..– “The atrium? You must have been one of the lucky ones then. Story of your life, huh?” Trademark; Julian Sigara, more luck than he ever knew what to do with. It’d been a whirlwind, but she’d heard of some who’d been pulled from the wreckage, it’d been all the nurses had spoken about for the last two hours. It was like fighting the impossible, too tired to so willingly order him out, knowing full well he’d never listened, passing thought didn’t quite reach to the hand that so surely lifted to hover just beyond the line of his jaw before thought turned within her mind to her own state — something that Julian had never seemingly been all too interested in questioning. “It’s..” Hand fell to brush restlessly against the flesh of her own thigh. Mottled bruising scattering once perfect skin, unsure of how even now it still looked a sight better than the scintillation of cuts, marks and burns that marred the rest of her beneath the smudge of ash. “Nothing that won’t heal. I’ve been trying to get out of here for the last hour but I can’t make it past the triage desk without someone full naming me and sending me right back here.” It’d made her restless, defiantly so. “Can you..” no part of her wanted it to sound like the concern that bubbled, yet she knew no matter what she said, he’d take it as such. “You don’t ..–” Tongue drew across the expanse of her teeth and she glanced to the bright linoleum beneath, “You don’t have anything on you, do you?”
When the world came to its catastrophic end, when judgment day demanded penance, just how damned would Julian Sigara’s soul be? He was a murderer, a liar, someone who consistently only looked out for his own neck. Even now, in an act that seemed selfless, he put yet another mark in his ledger of calculated moves. The hospital laid scene to a heartwrenching arrival- a hero of the story appearing in a worried panic for someone he claimed to love, separated by catastrophe only to find each other. It was poetic. It was fucking twisted. An act put on by judas iscariot to only secure that Monica Pelletier would recoil back into his arms like before because what else was there for Julian to hold onto but history? A semblance of a life before he’d ruined it all in the name of power. Now wearing the family crown in all its glory, it was time to reclaim what he’d lost in the process. Claws sunk in deeper as he watched her face contorted, a blend of confusion and unwanted concern coloring her features. “I came to find you.” The words were repeated once again, emerald hues lingering before he shook his head. “No- I don’t need... I don’t need somebody looking me over and telling me what I already feel.” He muttered.
“I’m starting to wonder when it’s going to run out...” The Faction’s most recent failure was a problem for his position. He couldn’t afford mistakes, not when he’d fought so hard to establish the course of his life. Throwing his cards behind Declan Meyer was an act that promised rewards, if they were successful in toppling a monarchy. Now, after coming face to face with death, Julian was beginning to wonder if that possibility was ever going to come true. Gaze once more falling on the woman beside him, Julian took in the full magnitude of her injury. And yet again, the horrible words were repeated: this had to happen. Collateral damage. It had to happen. All in the name of getting what he deserved, in pushing away the creeping fear of the shadows he once clung to. Once that fell into place, so would everything else. They would go back to normal, the push and pull that could challenge the world. “If you want to leave, I’ll pay the bill and we’ll go.” Against the wishes of the doctors, absolutely, but it was a possible lifeline. The next question was one he knew all too well. They were people wrapped around the finger of white powder, a horrible need that made itself known when a few sober hours began to kick in. Time and time again, falling back into the rabbit hole was a means of finding sanity, of feeding the monster that demanded attention. Pushing himself off the railing, he made the tentative towards Nic, a finger gently lifting her chin up. “I do... if it’s going to help, it’s all yours. You just tell me how much you need- whatever you need, I’m here.” The words landed soft, his voice barely above a whisper.
