Ulterior Motives

When The Ball Drops

The sun had barely been up for half an hour early the next morning. Reagan had been dozing off, when Oliver's moans woke her back up. She lurched off the sofa and was kneeling next to him within seconds, shaking the sleep from her mind. "Oliver." she placed the back of her hand against his face. He didn't have a fever. Do Warlocks even get fevers?

His eyes squinted open slightly. "Oliver." she said again as he reached up to cover his face from the light. Reagan grabbed the universal remote, pressed a button and the blinds drifted down blanketing the apartment in shadows.

He exhaled sharply, wincing when he twisted to roll over, immediately giving up and settling into his original position on his back once more.

"Don't try to move." Reagan placed her hand against his arm in an effort to get him to relax. "You've got some pretty nasty injuries."

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut again. He reached up, grazing the gauze on his head with his fingers. Reagan noted the burns on his hands had almost completely healed. Must be a Warlock thing. "What happened?"

He inhaled deeply and then stopped himself when expanding his lungs stretched out the burn on his side. She heard him grunt a little as he closed his eyes against the pain. "You blinked into my apartment on top of my coffee table, and then passed out in a gory mess on the floor. I had to cut you out of your clothes and bandage you up."

His hand left the cut on his head and reached down for her hand. She hadn't realized she had been tracing a line back and forth on his skin along the edge of the wrap on his chest in worry. He stilled her fingers but didn't push her away. Just held her hand to him, keeping her still. He must have sensed her nervousness. He rolled his head to the side opening his eyes to look at her.

"You cut my clothes off." A little too please with himself. His voice was a little dry from nonuse but she still managed to blush. He grinned crookedly at her. It was weak, but still a grin.

"Perve. I didn't cut them all off." She poked him gently through his fingers, he hadn't let go of her hand and they were resting on his chest. "It looks like you heal fast but the curse that missed you left a pretty bad burn. That might take longer."

"Thank you." He said.

"Don't mention it. That's what anyone would do if a third century Warlock nearly died in their living room." She teased. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

He almost nodded but was out before he could finish. She smiled and sat there for a few minutes before carefully pulling her hand free and checking his bandages. The gash on his forehead had closed. There was a thick scab already beginning to flake. The cut on his shin was growing new skin so she left the gauze off of both of those. At that rate they'd be gone by this afternoon. The burn, however, wasn't healing as quickly. It had barely changed. She cleaned around it and applied more of the salve before rewrapping it. She curled up on the couch as before and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Three short hours later Reagan was woken up again by the sound of movement. Wednesday was sitting on the coffee table watching Oliver offended by his presence. The disdain was clear in her bright green eyes as the cat glared down her nose at him, tail twitching.

Reagan got the impression she was going to get the silent treatment for a while when the cat stuck her nose up into the air and turned her back to Reagan. She watched four little black paws stomp across the table and then jump over the side. She assumed the cat continued stomping down the hall and into the bedroom.

"I don't think your cat likes me." Oliver mumbled.

She laughed softly. "Wednesday doesn't like anyone. Not even me most of the time." She sat up stretching her spine out. "How are you feeling?"