The Mouse and The Monarch

22

~MOUSE~

Ophelia lay still on the bed, the soft sheets pressed against her back.

She was too exhausted to think about the fact she was wearing his shirt and that he was helping her.

If anything she would have thought he'd be glad to see her in pain.

As Zero had pointed out. He seemed to hate her more than the others.

The room hummed with the soft whirr of electricity as she kept her arm over her eyes.

The antiseptic scent hung in the air, a sharp reminder of the pain that was about to rock her.

God how she fucking hated antiseptic. It hurt much more than it needed to.

With a gentle touch, she felt König apply a fresh layer of antiseptic to her side.

As the cool liquid made contact with the raw, tender skin, Ophelia couldn't help but wince, a soft hiss escaping her lips.

Her grip on her face tightened in response to the sting, a feeble attempt to escape the pain that lingered beneath.

She wanted nothing more than to rip her hands away from her face and use them to ground herself but he had asked her to to look.

She had been on a few teams, and if the Colonel said don't look, she wouldn't look.

Ophelia, her senses heightened, felt the shift in the air as the man above her shifted closer.

She could sense König's deliberate and careful movements, a juxtaposition to the violent image etched in her memory.

His hands, capable of snapping necks, now worked with a tenderness that defied the darkness that clung to him.

She couldn't help wondering why he was helping her.

She guessed Zeus had told him to. And if he was the only one experienced enough then maybe he had to.

The large shirt, an improvised shield, draped over her legs, providing a modest cocoon that covered her body fully.

It was a kindness. He didn't have to protect her modesty, but he had anyway.

Ophelia could not figure him out.

Her mind shifted as she felt fingers grip the shirt at her side and carefully lift it up.

Each noise resonated through the room as her muscles went rigid, getting ready for the pain.

The sharp bite of the needle in her side ignited a primal response, causing her to grit her teeth and emit a low groan that resonated through the room.

Stitching up wounds was a ritual she had become accustomed to but holy hell if it didn't hurt each time.

This time was no different.

The pain was raw, throbbing and an immediate reminder of her defencelessness.

The needle punctured her skin once more, and this time, her body rebelled.

Ophelia's fist shot out instinctively, a primal response to the pain radiating through her.

The impact landed on König's chest, a futile attempt to share the discomfort she was enduring.

However, to her surprise, he remained unmoved.