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stauncherhearted) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-02-13 11:08 am
stauncherhearted) wrote in undergrounds2016-02-13 11:08 am
Entry tags:
but you don't dare cry (open)
[Forward-dated to February 27th]
---
They said she fell down the stairs, that she'd hit her head on one of the steps and been knocked out. It was the explanation the hospital had been given, and for the most part, her injuries were consistent. Fresh bruises and scrapes, ice on the steps, and a broken wrist. Even with drugs in her system, Nancy knew better than to argue and explain that, no, she hadn't fallen down the stairs, but a thousand-year-old fae had gotten more than angry with her.
The nurses would have checked her into psychiatric, and she had no intentions of going there.
The truth was far more unbelievable then the lie that the boys' had come up with when they brought her to Accident and Emergency. They'd left her, and Nancy didn't blame them, because like her, most of them didn't legally exist, and what kid wants to stick around in A&E while waiting for her to wake-up? They could have gotten in trouble for bringing her, if she wasn't so sure that it had been Fagin himself to order her into A&E. He was always protecting his investments, even when he was landing a blow across the back of her head.
After all, how dare she reject his protection? He was an old man who loved her dearly, and he'd told her that. He loved her, cared for her like a father (no father would ever do the things you did to me!- come now, Nancy, my dear, that's no way to talk!) and would do anything for her. Anything, including violence.
He always claimed her cared, and god damn if she didn't believe him most of the time. Fagin was, as she'd told Norrell, all she had. He'd raised her, but he'd taken her from her mother in order to do that. But he was still the man who raised her. There was a level of loyalty there that she could't remove, no matter what. Maybe some day, but that day wasn't today. Or even next week. Hell, maybe it would never come.
By the time Nancy's awake, they've got her wrist in a cast, and already bandaged up some of the worst of her injuries, stitching up the gash in her skull from where she'd 'hit a step'. They'd done blood work, noticing the high levels of alcohol, which certainly explained falling down a whole flight of stairs, and the low-levels of iron, low red blood cell count. Anemic, they'd called her, and immediately got her on various medications and IVs.
By the time anyone from outside of Fagin's gang knows she's in the hospital, he's already visited, apologized ad-nauseam. But she has to know that she can't just throw out his care like that, because it's not how it works. She's still his. But if she'd rather have a new lord take care of her… I can protect you, Nancy. You don't know Eames like I do, my dear, he's up to no good, power-hungry and he'll kill you when you're no longer of use to him. I didn't want to hurt you, but you see, my dear? He wasn't there for you. But who took you to the hospital, hmm? as if they hadn't been at each other's throats just hours before. As if she hadn't lunged at him, and he hadn't thrown her across the room with the wave of his hand.
As if he hadn't threatened to kill her, to prove how little Eames could do to protect her. Besides, I'm your father, Nancy my dear, he'd said, stroking her hair out of her eyes with a gnarled hand and a surprisingly gentle touch. that's something no magic, no fae, can touch. Everyone knows who you are, that you're my girl. If you don't want my protection, then you don't have it. But remember that, when he's run out of use for you, my dear. But don't forget your father, your old friend Fagin. The boys, think of them, my dear. You'll be back, I know you will. Once you learn, of course, of course, that no protection means no help. Get well soon, Nance. He'd pressed his wrinkled lips to her forehead and left her without another word. He was up to something, but with the drugs in her system, she could hardly think of what it was.
All she could really think of, when she laid her head back on the sterile, white pillow, was that February needed to be over, and that March couldn't possibly be any worse.
---
They said she fell down the stairs, that she'd hit her head on one of the steps and been knocked out. It was the explanation the hospital had been given, and for the most part, her injuries were consistent. Fresh bruises and scrapes, ice on the steps, and a broken wrist. Even with drugs in her system, Nancy knew better than to argue and explain that, no, she hadn't fallen down the stairs, but a thousand-year-old fae had gotten more than angry with her.
The nurses would have checked her into psychiatric, and she had no intentions of going there.
The truth was far more unbelievable then the lie that the boys' had come up with when they brought her to Accident and Emergency. They'd left her, and Nancy didn't blame them, because like her, most of them didn't legally exist, and what kid wants to stick around in A&E while waiting for her to wake-up? They could have gotten in trouble for bringing her, if she wasn't so sure that it had been Fagin himself to order her into A&E. He was always protecting his investments, even when he was landing a blow across the back of her head.
After all, how dare she reject his protection? He was an old man who loved her dearly, and he'd told her that. He loved her, cared for her like a father (no father would ever do the things you did to me!- come now, Nancy, my dear, that's no way to talk!) and would do anything for her. Anything, including violence.
He always claimed her cared, and god damn if she didn't believe him most of the time. Fagin was, as she'd told Norrell, all she had. He'd raised her, but he'd taken her from her mother in order to do that. But he was still the man who raised her. There was a level of loyalty there that she could't remove, no matter what. Maybe some day, but that day wasn't today. Or even next week. Hell, maybe it would never come.
By the time Nancy's awake, they've got her wrist in a cast, and already bandaged up some of the worst of her injuries, stitching up the gash in her skull from where she'd 'hit a step'. They'd done blood work, noticing the high levels of alcohol, which certainly explained falling down a whole flight of stairs, and the low-levels of iron, low red blood cell count. Anemic, they'd called her, and immediately got her on various medications and IVs.
By the time anyone from outside of Fagin's gang knows she's in the hospital, he's already visited, apologized ad-nauseam. But she has to know that she can't just throw out his care like that, because it's not how it works. She's still his. But if she'd rather have a new lord take care of her… I can protect you, Nancy. You don't know Eames like I do, my dear, he's up to no good, power-hungry and he'll kill you when you're no longer of use to him. I didn't want to hurt you, but you see, my dear? He wasn't there for you. But who took you to the hospital, hmm? as if they hadn't been at each other's throats just hours before. As if she hadn't lunged at him, and he hadn't thrown her across the room with the wave of his hand.
As if he hadn't threatened to kill her, to prove how little Eames could do to protect her. Besides, I'm your father, Nancy my dear, he'd said, stroking her hair out of her eyes with a gnarled hand and a surprisingly gentle touch. that's something no magic, no fae, can touch. Everyone knows who you are, that you're my girl. If you don't want my protection, then you don't have it. But remember that, when he's run out of use for you, my dear. But don't forget your father, your old friend Fagin. The boys, think of them, my dear. You'll be back, I know you will. Once you learn, of course, of course, that no protection means no help. Get well soon, Nance. He'd pressed his wrinkled lips to her forehead and left her without another word. He was up to something, but with the drugs in her system, she could hardly think of what it was.
All she could really think of, when she laid her head back on the sterile, white pillow, was that February needed to be over, and that March couldn't possibly be any worse.
no subject
"there's nothing you could have done. it's my fault. I didn't watch where I was stepping." she holds up what Fagin and the boys had told the nurses: she'd slipped on ice and fallen down the stairs.
no subject
"Okay," he says. "Well, I just wanted to come by and make sure you were alright, that's all."
no subject
"Eames was here shortly after I woke up. Brought in Chinese."
no subject
no subject
"if I wasn't under his protection, I'd figure he had someone following me." again. The words come out easily, aided by morphine.
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"You're under his protection?"
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"...yes." because there's nothing wrong with that. "Fagin's done a shit job of it for the past 19 years."
no subject
He waits a beat, then tilts his head at her, narrowing his eyes. "Does that have anything to do with your slip and fall?"
no subject
But he's directly asking about her fall, and the morphine dulls her senses enough that it takes her a moment to actually respond. "No." Which of course, she realizes, has instantly given her away. She groans and rubs her forehead with a whine that actually makes her sound her age: "Yes..."
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"I'm still new to this," he finally admits, "I don't really get how it all works. But I hope it gets better from here."
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"He took the news as a a huge fuck you." She swallowed thickly. "But I think it will." At long fucking last.
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"Well, I must sound like a broken record at this point, but call me if you need help with anything. Anything at all."
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"I know," she says all the same. "I woke up here. Or I'd have called you right away."
no subject
He sits up with a sigh, looking around the room. "I should let you get back to your rest."
no subject
"I won't keep you." There's no reason to. He's probably got a million other things to do. "But thank you for checking up on me." She reaches her hand out towards his.
no subject
"I'll see you later."
He almost tells her to call if she needs anything, but maybe he's already made that point clear. With a soft smile, he turns and leaves, with a few new things to think about than before.