His hand hurt. It was a grounding sort of pain – like the bruise encircling his wrist that had already started to fade. Pain was real. Holden understood it; both the physical and mental aspects of it. So he clutched onto it, felt the harsh spikes of it, and he breathed easier. He had spent so much of his life feeling numb; pushing others away, protecting his heart by simply not caring. But, in his self-induced solitude, pain had also become a comfort; something to remind him he wasn’t an empty, hollow shell.
River disrupted this part of him – the part that didn’t care about anyone other than himself. Holden didn’t want to understand it. And he knew, if he looked closely, he would be able to find the name of it with ease. He simply chose not to. Maybe that was selfish, maybe it was self-serving, or perhaps it was self-deluding.
Ignorance was bliss, after all.
And then there was River, actions in stark contrast to his words. Even as he snarled at Holden to go to Dr. Madsen, he snatched up Holden’s hand, turning it towards the sun as he inspected it. He even reached for his first aid kit, one that’d definitely seen better days, even while he bitched. It made Holden feel warm, heart fluttering softly beneath his ribs.
“I don’t need a keeper,” he drawled, looking River up and down with a purposeful slowness. “Though, the case could be made that you need one, Major Lily White.” It had made a bizarre amount of sense that River was military. Holden didn’t know how he hadn’t put the pieces together sooner. The hero complex, the willingness to run head first into danger and ask questions later. River was every bit the solider.
That sat like an ugly, heavy weight on Holden’s chest. The sensation felt odd, out of place, and unusual. Holden wanted to protect River, most especially from himself. A feeling like that was dangerous. It meant Holden cared, even as he so desperately wished he didn’t.
So he did the only thing he could: he acted like an asshole.
But first, he sat down, let himself enjoy the warm coarseness of River’s hand on his, the soft flutter of his heart, the damn butterflies in his stomach. Then he chased such a gentle feeling away with the sanguine tilt of his mouth. His words tasted like ash in his mouth. “The problem is, Lily,” he said, a teasing lit to his tone, “I don’t find Dr. Madsen nearly as fun to piss off.” His smirk only grew as his eyes crinkled. “Nor do I have any desire to press my mouth to his. You, however,” he trailed off as he gave a one shouldered shrug. “Let’s just say I picked a White.”
“Yeah, well you don’t act like it.” He wondered if Holden was sent here to be his personal torture. Fuck mysterious island monsters that crept in the jungle - it was Holden that was going to do him in. With his uncanny knack of just knowing things about him and those damn smirks that River was sure would haunt him in the afterlife.
He tore into the bandage in silence, eyes lowered appearing way too preoccupied with his work to look up at Holden. God he hoped that the other man would get the hint. But he didn’t. Of course, he didn’t. That teasing draw of his voice slid all the way down through River’s spine and settled in some permanent warmth in his stomach. River poured some of the antiseptic on a cotton swap and sadistically took no little pleasure as he patted it down the cut.
He really didn’t need to know about the differences between him and Masden, for all he cared Holden could’ve been just as fine there. The flare of something very unhealthy in his stomach served as a reminder that this may not have been the complete truth but whatever - he could lie to himself if he wanted. River was a grown ass man, he could live in denial.
If he had looked up maybe River would’ve been more prepared for his words, if he’d been able to catch a glimpse of that damn smirk on Holden’s mouth. But River was stubborn to the very end, his fingers halted stuttering over Holden’s damn cut and he cleared his throat.
“Don’t.” He said in a clipped warning tone. What the fuck was he thinking? River felt like he wanted to cry or maybe like he wanted to do good on those desires of Holden’s and just give in, see just how that mouth of his tasted. With how long he was taking with the cleaning the wound Holden’s palm was going to be the cleanest place in this whole island. River’s fingers trailed up, thumb pressed at Holden’s pulse point in a touch that was far too gentle, more so than River thought himself capable of. He shook his head. “Just don’t. Whatever you think you’re doing with this, Holden. Just don’t.” He did look up this time - more silent warnings. River was an island of his own - untouchable, distant.
He glued the cut over, even though it probably didn’t need that extra precaution, silently River reached for the bandage to cover it up.
“I can’t do this, Hart.” River forced the words out, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. “Whatever ... this is.” He wasn’t sure if Holden was doing this just because he thought it would make River squirm because it did - he felt it so physically: his heart raced in his chest, head light and dizzy. “Now is not the time.”
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