Working With Red

Battle Scars and Anger Issues

Updated: 2021.08.26 

"Would you stop sniveling like a baby?" Roy muttered, letting out a sigh as you dragged the palm of your hand over your tear-streaked cheek. "You didn't do anything wrong." 

"I-I can't help it," you murmured, your gaze falling to the fire now crackling away in the fireplace. "I just feel like I should have done something." 

"You did; you immobilized Pheasant--" 

"Not before he got you, Roy!" you snapped, shaking your head. "You got hurt and I couldn't stop it!" 

"I pulled you out of the way," Roy replied quietly. "I stood in front of you so you wouldn't get hurt." 

"I wish you hadn't," you whispered, grabbing another wet wipe and cleaning away the dried blood accumulating around Roy's wound. "He. . . he would've done this to me instead of you." 

"Which is exactly why I took the blow," Roy murmured, hissing as your fingers grazed over the cut. Your eyes widened as you quickly withdrew your hand, the tears that had welled in your eyes spilling over onto your cheeks. 

"I-I'm sorry," you stuttered, shaking your head as you grabbed the rolled-up bandage from the floor and began wrapping it around Roy's arm. His jaw clenched as he resisted the urge to groan in pain; he didn't want you getting any more upset than you already were. You already knew he was in pain--pain you caused and were currently causing--and you couldn't feel more guilty about it. 

"I'm going to go get some ibuprofen to stop the swelling," you muttered as you finished wrapping Roy's arm. You placed what was left of the bandage on the floor before rising to your feet and turning to leave the lounge. 

"Wait," Roy murmured, his hand shooting out and grabbing your forearm. You paused, but didn't look back at him. "Just. . . stay here." 

"I don't want to," you mumbled in reply. "Besides, you need to rest if you want your arm to heal." 

"(Y/N), just sit back down. It's not that bad--" 

"You can't even use your bow, Roy!" you exclaimed, finally turning to face Roy. "You can't go on missions with your arm like that!" 

"I'll manage just fine," Roy replied, his grip around your forearm tightening. "It's not your concern." 

"You're my partner," you snapped, suddenly growing irritated. "Of course, it's my concern! While I'm not necessarily responsible for you, it's part of my job to keep you safe--" 

"Which is exactly why I couldn't let you get hurt," Roy murmured, his tone softening. "Don't you see, (Y/N)? One of us is always going to get hurt; that's just how this whole partner thing works. Some days, you'll wind up with some scrapes and bruises, and the same will happen to me--today, it just so happened to be my turn." 

"But. . . I. . ." 

"You don't have anything to feel bad about," Roy continued. "It wasn't like I was just going to stand by and watch my partner take a knife to the back--" 

"Then how do you think it made me feel to watch it happen to you?" you hissed, your teeth gritting together. "I had to watch you push me out of the way and get stabbed by a psycho with a combat knife in my place. I was horrified, Roy." Tears began to streak down your cheeks again, a few dripping from your chin onto the floor. "To you, it might've been minuscule, but to me, it was something I hope never happens again." Roy hesitated, his gaze lingering on your shaking figure. 

His eyes remained fixed on you as he slowly rose from the chair, his grip on your arm tightening as he stepped up to you. You turned to him, your hair falling around the sides of your face.