Paddy shot her a glance, a sharp reply on his tongue. But he kept it to himself and instead concentrated on the job. It didn't take long to finish: three more passes brought him to the end of the wound. Tying the stitch off as close to the skin as he could manage, he cut off the extraneous thread and tossed it aside. Blotting the area once more before rubbing it down with an antibacterial solution, he sat back into one of the nearby chairs.

"There. Should be more or less healed in the next few days. We just needed tah keep all ya guts from spillin' out. Bleeding miracle of modern medicine." Patrick sighed, shaking his head as unbidden memories of times even modern medicine wasn't enough leapt to mind. "Tch. Fuckin' yay.

"Keep drinking that whiskey. It'll help with the pain. But drink water, too. Don't need ya dehydrated, too. Enough pain in the arse as is."
 
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Though Sapphire was relieved that it was over, his silence made her uneasy. She'd practically poured her guts out to him now - literally - and he said nothing. Sapphire's past was one she had kept sealed, silent; now the reunion of a highschool boyfriend had her on the floor, (again, literally) out of options and at a loss she had not been in for a long time.

Sapphire did not like being at a loss.

The "fuckin' yay" ordeal left her gaze following him. What had she said? Was it asking him to hurry up? Surely he knew he didn't mean to aggravate her, it just -- god it had fucking hurt.But him calling her a pain in the arse -- that stung. Not as much as the wound, but.. as she reached for one of the water bottles off to her side, Sapphire thought about how he was right. She had entirely crashed in on his business - whatever it was - with a man in pursuit and then blood on his hands. (Again, literally.)

"Patrick," She called out to him, her voice scratchy. It was more of a croak. "I'mms..ssorry." It was harder to speak now, clear in the words that all blurred together. She would've gone on, to tell him she would leave as soon as she could, she'd never come back again. He didn't want her, and he had every right now too. She had left him, cold and dry, and only showed up on his doorstep to inconvenience him.
 
Patrick's eyes cracked open.

"The hell for?" Scowling, he settled himself down farther into his chair. A cigarette lay on the table, and shifting his weight, he pulled a lighter from his pocket. He stuck the smoke stick in his mouth unceremoniously between his teeth, flashed the flame across the end, and took a deep drag. Tossing the lighter onto the side table, he crossed his arms and leaned his head onto the chair back.

Yeah, things had been said in the past. Things had been done. And there was regret on both sides. It was true: Patrick's life had taken something of an emotional downturn after Sapphire left, and his employment with the MCPD after high school had been a way to distract himself from that. But hell, she didn't make him do all that. That was his choice. His decision.

Was that what she was bawling about? He doubted it was the pain of her wound; Sapphire was a tough old bitch, likely tougher even than him. But damn, leave it to a woman to cry over an emotional touchstone.

"Shyte, Saph. Life fuckin' happens, don't it? I'm not gonna blame you for what's outta yer control." Shaking his head, Patrick put his hands behind his head. "Get some sleep. And worry about getting better. I want yah back to fighting fit."
 
The hell for?

First she was pissed, an unhappy exhale escaping her, as much of a hiss as she could manage. So he was grumping around all over the place, but it wasn't her fault, now was it? But then she thought on it more; perhaps it wasn't her he seemed upset about. Perhaps it was himself.

Sapphire understood. She did, she really did. She blamed most of everything on herself as well. The death of her family, the masquerade she had set herself upon, leaving Patrick in the dust. The state of her weak little brother, Percy, and the state of her own mind. But whatever Sapphire blamed herself for, could not be undone. She could only start to try and right her wrongs now, if she so desired.

"Alright." She murmured sleepily, unable to say anything else as she dozed off once more into the sweet release of sleep.

~~

Over the next few days, Sapphire's wound healed fairly well. Perhaps she wasn't all the way back up to fighting fit, but she was certainly close to it. She was up and moving again, and had at one point greeted him with breakfast on a night where he'd slept in a bit later than normal. "Least I can do." She had said with a shrug.

"I have a lead on Inter." Sapphire eventually stated. "I always had this one, some questionable sources so I kept it on the backburner.. but now I'm fresh out, so I guess this is all I got. Just checking a couple houses in the area. It's near the police station, which I'll admit throws me off, but.. I wouldn't put it past Inter to hide somewhere so obvious." She sighed.
 
"Probably what I'd do."

The breakfast was unexpected, wildly so, and Patrick wasn't really sure what to think of it. Best not to. Shoving the synthetic eggs around on his plate with a plastic fork that had been washed and reused far past acceptability, he mused over her description. It made sense that Sapphire would be wanting to get back at it, even before her body was really ready for whatever they might encounter. His eyes followed her around, gauging her readiness.

"Alright," Paddy grumbled, not happy but resigned. "What do yah plan on exactly?
 
"Casual stakeout. I don't know if it's even a threat. Look around, see if it's worth it to make any noise."

She glanced back at Patrick, still clinging on to the guilt she had felt those few days ago. The delirium, of course, had faded, but her feelings had not. "Patrick, you know you.." She pushed around the eggs on her plate like a child, discontent with their mother's meal. "You don't have to come. This could be where we part ways." She gave a simple shrug, and then lifted her plastic fork, which was just as worn out as his. She aimed it at Patrick with false menace, and a forced grin. "But that would mean no more fabulously cooked breakfasts."

Her attempt at a joke quickly fell flat, however, and she was back to silently picking at her food. "It's best if I go alone, I think. I don't need to pull you into all of this." Her voice dropped to a murmur, more as if she were talking to herself. "Really, I.. I don't."
 
Patrick said nothing, instead shoveling he rest of breakfast into his mouth. When he was finished, he stood up and shoved his chair under the table. Still ignoring Sapphire's pleas, he threw his jacket onto his back and slid his large knife into its sheath. Finally he glanced at his rifle. It would be a handy thing to have, as trouble was almost certain. But by carrying it, trouble would be certain. It was too big. Resigning himself to that fact, Paddy scooped up a new pack of cigarettes and his lighter. Grabbing Sapphire's swords from where they lay, he stomped his way to the door, pausing only to to turn and hold them out to her.

"You bloody coming or not?"
 
A small grin escaped Sapphire as she shoved the last bite of egg into her mouth and hustled out the door. She had no jacket to pull on, practically her only gear being the swords which she gladly took from Patrick and returned to their sheaths. The sun felt good on her skin; it felt like she had been cooped up too long. Sapphire didn't want to tell Patrick she was glad he was coming along, if only not to encourage it, but it was clear from the light in her eyes some part of it made her happy.

"Do you remember when we got arrested, after jacking liquor from old Pete's shop?" They had been walking into town, silent, and only when they were nearing their destination did she open her mouth, if only because she could see the police station coming into view. Despite being on the better side of the vigilante trade, Sapphire had had her fair share of run ins with the law as a teen, no thanks to her boyfriend.

A laugh escaped the blue-haired woman. "That was a wild night." She turned to Patrick and smiled softly, hoping to see a reaction from him.
 
"It was."

Patrick stalked along, looking more like he was looking for prey more than going for a simple walk. His eyes roved constantly, subconsciously on alert for any threat or danger. But the corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

"Almost got outta there, too. Except my fat arse couldnae fit through the fence. T'was nice of yah teh stick with me, when yah coulda run. Wouldnae have blamed yah." His eyes finally fell upon the police HQ as it drew ever closer, and the man chuckled. "Lucky it didnae keep me from teh PD."
 
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Sapphire snorted. "Didn't keep you from the PD?" She said with a scoff. "We were stuck in that cell for god knows how many hours, 'till my dad came and put up the bail." Sapphire snickered. "Almost would have made me stop seeing you, if he didn't know that just saying that would ever actually keep me away." The woman looked away, off to the side as they walked. She seemed not half as cautious as Patrick, but that was not to say she wasn't watchful. With every sideways glance she quickly took in the scene around them, stealthily and almost unnoticeably.

"I wouldn't have left you," she said, her tone softer this time. "Can't leave behind my partner in crime, you know."
 
"Aye."

Reaching into a pocket, Patrick pulled a cigarette from the pack he'd stored there. He lit it with a click of his lighter, and soon a long thin line of smoke trailed after them as they moved down the street. His scanning gaze halted as he spied an individual leaving the police station. But they seemed relaxed, unconcerned, and besides didn't make their way toward him and his friend. So Paddy gave a mental shrug, chalking up his paranoia to his being so close to the station, and kept his pace. He was silent for several more moments, rolling Sapphire's words around in his mind.

"Yah know," he muttered, speaking aloud accidentally, "I dinnae think I paid 'im back. Some date, when yer girl's da has to pay for it."
 
She laughed, rubbing her eyes gently and then putting a hand to her temple. "Oh, Patrick." Stiffing another outburst, she shook her head. "I think it's alright. It's alright. You didn't really have to pay him back. I'm sure he would've turned you down." She eventually sighed and shrugged, glancing at the police station a moment. "I think it was a very good date."

"We're nearly there. It's just a couple houses ahead."
There was a job to do here; she remembered her task now. Not small talk. Inter needed to be caught, he had to be found, taken down, brought to justice. She was the only one to do it. The laughter that had been seeping out of her moments ago seemed to disappear, and now her face had hardened.

Up until someone ran out of the station like their life depended on it, and the next thing she knew there wasn't a station to run out of anymore. An explosion, debris flying, a fire erupting. She remembered grabbing Patrick's shirt tightly before it blew, but knew that now as she was struggling to pull herself upright, she wasn't holding onto him anymore.

The police station had been blown to bits. Her ears were ringing, blood dripped from her nose, and as she put a hand to her head she felt a part of her hair was sticky with something warm. A cough ripped through her lungs, and she blinked furiously, trying to clear the blur in her vision. "Patrick?" She yelped, her voice hoarse.
 
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Patrick blinked, lucidity coming slowly to his shockwave addled brain. His back hurt badly; sharp pain laced it, and he could have sworn it felt wet against his shirt. The same feeling was in his ears, and he thought he tasted iron. Oddly, despite the pain, it felt as though he were suspended. So he opened his eyes.

Sapphire was no longer in his arms. Indeed, she was no longer near him at all, and his arms hung by his side, useless and weak. About the Irishman were signs of destruction, brick, stone, and even bits of steel beams lay about the street. Bodies did as well, in various states of injury and dismemberment. Some looked to be in the act of screaming or clutching at the free flow of blood. Yet they didn't move, frozen instead stock still in whatever act they were involved in. And before him stood a man.

He wore little in the way of clothing, covered merely in a pair of shorts, a long sleeve gray t-shirt, and sandles. It was the very man who had run out of the police department moments before, though Patrick had not seen him at the time. Standing perhaps 5'10", he peered up at where Patrick now floated, suspended and unable to move. One hand in his pocket, the man used his other to reach up and wipe a trickle of blood. And he grinned.

"She'll lead to your death, ya know. Sapphire. It tends to happen around her. The Boss said to give you the chance to run. I'd just as soon pick ya off, but hell. Guy says jump, ya just do it and hope ya jumped high enough." He threw a thumb over his shoulder. Behind him stood the blue haired woman in question, standing before the MCPD's remains, her partially turned face in desperate panic as she searched for her friend. Patrick felt a mixture of fury and terror well up within, but the man only smiled. "Right her off, Blondie. It's only a matter of time before the Boss comes for her again. And believe me, ya don't wanna be there when he does."

Wincing, the man wiped his nose again, the blood coming more freely now. Clearly his power took its toll. Turning, he began jogging off, heading past Patrick in a direction the Irishman couldn't see with a Ciao! A few moments later, everything unfroze, and Patrick dropped to the ground, failing to catch himself and smacking his face against the cement sidewalk. And he groaned, loudly.

@CloudyBlueDay
 
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Her head turned sharply to the groan which came from nearby - a mistake, to jump so quickly, because her head spun and she stumbled to the floor once again, even just having picked herself back up. Sapphire struggled to grip the world around her, blood trickling down the side of her face as he had both hands and feet planted firmly on the ground in hopes the world would just stop spinning.

“Patrick..” she hissed, struggling to pull herself upward. A shaky hand was brought to the blood dripping down her cheek, and she was met with an open cut just next to the eye. So close. No doubt there was some sort of wound on her head, too. A concussion? Didn't matter. It was hard to see, but she could make out the shape of the Irishmen who lay flat on his face up ahead. She reached for him, only to hesitate, because she noticed her hands were covered in blood. She didn't even want to think about the blossoming pain in her stomach, familiar

But Patrick, strewn across the ground, tore her heart to pieces. She had heard him, he was alive, but god, he looked so stiff. Broken. “They blew the station.” She croaked, pulling herself closer to him. “‘S my fault. They blew the station up ‘cause… cause of me.” Her voice was raspy, and she tried to gaze around them, looking for someone who could help, but even with her vision at a terrible state of blurriness, she could see no one was in good shape. “Patrick… I'm sorry..” she hissed.
 
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"Fuck. Off." Still face down, he spat the reply through clenched teeth and a mouthful of blood. His hands clenched and unclenched, squeezing handfuls of gravel and rubble in torn fingers. "Stop taking tah blame for every fuckin' thing tha' happens. Shyte."

Wheezing and wincing, he pushed himself up to kneeling. His arms screamed in protest, the adrenaline that had sustained him quickly burning through his system, leaving him utterly exhausted. In a kind of twisted reflection to Sapphire, a thick line of red traced its way down his face, a souvenir of his intimacy with the pavement. Yet neither his face nor his arms bore the brunt of the injury. His shirt and jacket had been reduced to ribbons on the man's back, each strip dyed a dark red. It was the same color that now blanketed his back; the broad surface had taken most of the impact of the explosion, and where it wasn't ripped by the shockwaves, the skin was burned and blistered by the heat. Finally sitting back on his feet, Patrick spat out a big globule of mucous and hemoglobin.

"Bloody time goblin. Got a good look at tah bastard, but I never seen him before." Wincing, the Irishman looked to Sapphire, concern in his eyes. "Yah alrigh', lass? Jewel keep 'er shine?"
 
He was quick to defend her, even though they both knew it was because of her. Sapphire might've rebutted if she could, but the moment he had seemed able to pull himself up off the ground, Sapphire fell back down, vision still spinning. She flinched when he spit out more gunk, hating the fact that she was in no condition to help him. A glimpse of the Irishmen's back showed her where he had taken the brunt of the damage, and it was not a pretty sight.

"Time goblin?" She echoed uselessly. "I think I.. know who you're on 'bout." Sapphire squinted, trying to recall the face to memory, but to no avail. She winced, placing a hand to her forehead, imprinting it with red. "Think.. I got a concussion." Once again, a spot of blood bloomed in the place it had just days ago, their first meeting after all those years. "Shit, Patrick.. what are we gonna do?" A noise of pain escaped her, every movement bringing to light a new injury. "I can barely.. see, everything's blurry.

Patrick, we can't.. can't go to a hospital, I.. your back, s'all messed up." She leaned forward, and with hands painted red, touched his forehead in an almost lovingly manner, concern painted over her face but seeming to have no notice of the fact she was staining him with her own blood. "You fell really hard?" She murmured.
 
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He grumbled at her touch, an unhappy look on his face, but it was a quiet grumble, as if out of ingrained habit only, and the tension he bore in his eyes loosened some small amount.

"Yeh, hard, I guess. Damn goblin dinnae gimme time tah catch meself. Bleedin' head scratch from it."

This wasn't good. Sapphire was right; they absolutely couldn't go to a hospital. Their wounds were evidence enough of their presence here, and if they were IDed as having been near the police headquarters when it blew up, well, the police would be wanting statements. And who was to say where Inter had his puppets? Yet he knew of nowhere else to go for medical aid. His companion might, but she seemed to be becoming increasingly hysterical, the shock from the blast and the resulting injuries, not to mention almost certainly reopening her recent wound, having rattled her quite badly.

He looked about them, seeking some place where they could at the least get into some form of hiding place. Somewhere to get out of the open. Finally he spotted a place. Some yards away was a dark alley, littered with trash bins. Once again Paddy was thankful for his gift. If he'd had something of a more aggressive nature, he'd be unable to do anything.

Gritting his teeth against the ache, Patrick pulled Sapphire into his arms, cradling her.

"Hol' tigh'."

A golden disc, barely visible at this distance, popped to life on the wall of the alley he'd seen, though some three or four feet up, thanks to the visual obstruction the trash bins created. Squeezing his eyes closed and holding his breath against the anticipated pain, he created another gate, this one immediately below them. And they fell.

The effect was that they exited the second gate at a horizontal angle, at least at first, with Patrick between Sapphire and the ground. They made contact with the pavement, burned back first, and the Irishman gasped at the shock. His arms loosened involuntarily.

"Shyte."
 
The world spun - the sparkling gold from Patrick's gate blurred into the surroundings. Her fingers fumbled loosely for his hand, anything to hang on too. A gasp of pain escaped her as he pulled her into his arms, but she was so grateful for the sense of security she suddenly felt, despite every stinging twinge. Sapphire struggled not to close her eyes, because though she desperately wanted too, she was so afraid if she closed them she wouldn't be able to open them again.

The ground opened. A gust of wind, then they fell, only to meet the ground moments later. She could feel his recoil, but could hardly help as she slipped from his arms, falling helplessly to the side of him. At this point she was barely conscious, head lolling to the side. She wasn't in his arms anymore, and she wanted to be. The only assurance of his presence was the unsteady breathing to the side of her.

And then the footsteps.

"Oh, Saph. What've ya done?" A masculine voice spoke, and Sapphire could barely make out the figure of the man that stood in front of them. He knelt down, and she a hand resting on her own, bloodied ones. She flinched. The man's other hand lightly touched Patrick's arm, and once again they fell.

The room they had transported too was unlit save for one window, sunlight sparkling in. Two separate beds lay across from each other and a single armchair. In it sat a thin and pale looking girl, with hair as white as snow. She looked disinterested, as well as tired. But Sapphire could hardly make those features out. The man had transported each of them into one of the beds, and Sapphire was extremely relieved at the soft, cushiony surface. In front of the bed on the wall, was framed a childish painting.

"You can pick who you wanna start with first. They're both equally fucked up." The man said in a desperately cheerful voice, and the girl scoffed. "Remind me again why you brought 'em?" "She's a friend of mine, Gin. Help her out." A deep sigh. "Alright."
 
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The shock of grinding, stabbing pain was suddenly replaced by the gasping unexpected exhilaration of extra-spatial movement. It felt so similar to the use of his own gates, Patrick thought at first he'd activated one subconsciously and was now traveling through it. But no; this was different, subtly so. It was an easier transition than his ever were, and instead of feeling as though he were staying in real space while in actuality traveling to a point not otherwise directly connected, he felt instead that his body was pulled, dragged down by some force of will instead of natural gravity.

It was with no small relief that the Irishman found himself on his stomach, arms loose at his side and head turned to allow him to breathe. It was a fortunate change, one he might have otherwise been grateful for had it not been for the circumstances of it. His left arm dug underneath him in an attempt to prop himself up on the bed, and his right reached for the Bowie knife on his belt.

He instantly regretted it. The damage the explosion had caused was bad enough, and his back would have taken some time to heal anyway, but by effectively grinding it into the debris strewn asphalt of the alley that he'd brought Sapphire into, Patrick had exacerbated it severely. Muscle was torn in wide swathes, though fortunately not too deeply, and bits of gravel and even glass buried into the exposed tissue. His arms both gave out, and Paddy collapsed back into his bed with a hiss through clenched teeth. He forced his eyes open; he would at least see his enemy. But all he could see was Sapphire lying some small distance away, elevated on her own bed; apparently safe.

"The bloody hell are we?" He raised the question to no one in particular, fully aware that others were present but, having seen his companion safe, not really caring who they might be at the moment.
 
"Oh!"

The man leaned over Patrick's bedside with a gleaming smile, seemingly happy to see the Irishmen awake.

"Patrick, yeah? You're at my place. Brought you here after the explosion. You and Saph were both pretty roughed up." He nodded his head to the barely conscious Sapphire, who was being stood over by the white-haired woman. "I'll take her first. Otherwise she'll bleed out." She muttered gruffly. The man winced. "No mercy, huh?"

He turned back to Patrick, a little less cheery now. "Best stay down, mate. Your back's all fucked up, not to mention all the other cuts n' bruises." His eyes traveled to the painting in front of Sapphire's bed, and then back again. "The name's Sam. That's my sister, Ginny. Me and Sapphire go a long way back." Ginny's hands began to glow a bright white, and she kept them hovered over Sapphire's stomach wound.

The pain, at first, was unimaginable. A whimper escaped her, because that was all the energy she could spare. Her back arched and her fingernails bit into her palm, as it felt like her skin was pulling itself back together. But quickly the pain subsided, at least in that area.

She felt much better in a matter of moments, her whimpers turning to gasps and then a sigh of relief. Ginny's hands then came upon her head, sealing shut the wound right next to her eye. It was only then Sapphire let her eyes flutter closed, because her body was not constantly screaming it's protests.

"I healed her external wounds. She's got a concussion, but that'll heal up quick too. " Ginny announced, wiping sweat from her brow. Sam stepped back from Patrick's bed, allowing Ginny to move closer. "You're up, pal! It'll hurt like a bitch, but it's better than dying. We can talk afterwards. I've got things I'm sure you'll wanna hear." Ginny rolled her eyes, as if Sam's rants were a customary thing.
 
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