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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
"You are obviously important to Kenzi, and Kenzi is mine to protect. Ergo..." He spreads his hands before him. "Here I am. Few people would turn away such an offer from a vampire Earl." Although she would hardly be the first. Especially to turn away him, the Earl of Poplar of all places. (It's a long story...)
no subject
"You're hardly the first Earl I've met."
no subject
"Fine. You don't want my protection. You don't want me here." He rises from his seat. He has other things he can be doing with his time then. "But know this. You're not doing yourself any favors, continuing on as you are. And you realize that yourself, do not think I do not see it."
no subject
Continuing on as she was?
"I don't plan on winding up in the hospital again." Or with her best friend dying on her couch. "If that's what you're saying."
no subject
He trails off, searching for the right word as though he has forgotten it. Perhaps it is true -- although he is very good at English, it is certainly not his first language. Finally he settles on the choice of words, "When one finds oneself confronted with the same flight of stairs. Perhaps it is time for a change of scenery." He inclines his head. "That is all."
no subject
Oh.
"I don't want your protection." There. She'd said it, and hopefully he'd understand. She had enough protection without the man who turned her best friend into a vampire. Besides, she didn't trust him. She trusted people like Lord Coward, people like Eames. "And I don't need it."
no subject
"Suit yourself," he acquiesces. And turns to leave her as she is.