Bloodlines: Ichor || [2]

CXXIV. To Defeat Victory

AFTER DINNER, NATASHA ACCOMPANIED JASON back to his cabin so she could change his bandages. He sat calmly on his bed, not making any sound like a perfect little patient, but Natasha could tell it was painful. There were beads of sweat at the top of his forehead and his firsts were clenched over his knees.

"I'm sorry, I know it's painful," Natasha said.

"No, it's okay," he managed. He shivered from the cold, his torso exposed to the few fans he had in his room. She'd turned a few off, but he said the wind made him feel better.

"Just be lucky you didn't grow up in Ares cabin with Clarisse's medical work," she told him. "It could be worse."

"Isn't there Apollo cabin for that?"

"Meh, better not to waste their time. We get so many injuries, learning how to deal with the pain becomes a skill in itself."

Jason nodded as if he understood that. Natasha cut off the edge of the gauze and stood up, stretching her arms high above her head, and placed the medical supplies on his dresser.

Looking around, Jason's room was blander than almost anyone else's. He'd changed almost nothing from the original design—excluding the maps strewn across the walls with copious amounts of duck tape.

"Who was there to do this for you," Jason asked suddenly, making her spin around, "when you died?"

Natasha glanced down at her wrist. Hera's peacock feather still hadn't faded, though she had no idea why she expected it to. It was the marker that Hera had saved her life—she had known her worth from the battle of Manhattan. She didn't know if she liked or resented that.

"No one, really," she said, shrugging. "I was clearly too far gone. No time for any of this. Only divine intervention could have saved me."

Jason's eyes were sad for a moment. Then he smiled, and it was like the sun after a storm. "I guess I have to thank Hera for something after all."

"I guess you do. We've got matching scars, too." She reached for her jacket, laid on the bed at Jason's side. "We should get some sleep. It's already past midnight."

She started to tie it around her waist, but Jason's hand clasped around her wrist. She looked up in surprise, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity they rarely shared. "Can you stay? Just for...I'd really like your company."

Natasha stared at him for a count of three, unsure why she was so surprised. They were dating. Even if it was relatively new, couples did this sort of thing, right? But not Jason. It was a strange rush of affection that traveled up her spine.

She sat back down next to him and kissed him. Jason pulled away, laughing. "Maybe I should get stabbed more often."

"Shut up," Natasha said, but she kissed him anyway.

♝♔♝

In retrospect, Natasha was regretting the jokes she made about Ariana sleeping together. She supposed it was only karma that she and Frank found her in Jason's bed—cuddling. And why would Jason being shirtless help things at all?

Thankfully, there was little teasing by the time she and Jason changed and walked into the mess hall. Everyone else but Leo was there already, but no one paid them any attention.

Once upon a time, Natasha would have worried about all of them being together below decks with nobody at the helm, but ever since Ophelia had permanently woken up Festus the dragon figurehead had been more than capable of running the Argo II by himself. Festus could navigate, check the radar, make a blueberry smoothie and spew white-hot jets of fire at invaders – simultaneously – without even blowing a circuit.