Gwen pulls his wrist to her chin, leaning into it and idly, distractedly pressing kisses to his skin. The motion is almost possessive as if darker thoughts pervade her mind that she is instinctively clinging closer to him for.

He mumbles to her through heavy eyelids. Sleep beckons to him with the slowing of his heartbeat. She presses a lingering kiss this time, waiting, waiting, waiting.

Only when he's fallen asleep does she mumble in return:

"Just sleep, my love.. just sleep."

Greyson Connors

She can see right through him, see through to the concern that stirs beneath the surface of his expression. It is the same one her father had given her when she'd announced her plan to follow in his footsteps.

Back then, it had been in part because she was a woman. The other part, she knew, was reflected in Greyson's eyes, too.

Love.

Gwen closes her eyes, exhaling quietly and letting her shoulders relax as his lips press to her forehead. It calms her immediately, though his acceptance of her request certainly helps, too.

"I'm not going anywhere."

She helps ease him back onto the bed, and would ultimately curl up next to him to keep him warm. Gwen lays without resting, however, instinctively in high alert.

Greyson Connors

The prospect of food, while tempting, is irrelevant to her. She relents only because Greyson needs it, and needs her to relax.

"Greyson."

Her voice is firm, her expression searching his. The softness of his bed rises to meet her where he lowers them both onto it. Gwen squeezes his hand, shifting closer to him.

"You are everything I want, and this is my decision."

Greyson Connors

There is a 'but' to his response, she can feel it. It pulls a frown from somewhere deep, even despite the pressure of his own kisses in return.

She pulls back gently, presses her hand firmly over his heart.

"Then let me join the League. I will make Hoenn my home; you are my home. Let me protect it."

Greyson Connors

She's never been attached. Never felt so strongly about another person. Never felt this crushed, this defeated, this at the end of her rope. He could have slipped right through her fingers, could have disappeared from her life as quickly as he'd fallen into it.

Life had quite literally turned a complete 180. She'd arrived in Hoenn without any real goal or destination to get to. Greyson had stumbled across her path unexpectedly and clung to her - and she to him.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, he was in her arms covered in blood and wounds. She could hear the pained breath of bruised ribs, feel the mans skin jumping if pain lanced through his body.

"You will take me with you next time, okay? Please. I will be your shield."

She blinks away stray tears to look up at him. His hands are on her shoulders, pulling her back so that they can see eye to eye. He kisses her, but the taste of salty tears meets them in the middle. One hand rises to cup his cheek, thumb stroking his skin. She presses several quick, furious kisses against him before pulling back.

"I am very good at protecting people."

Greyson Connors

She hadn't been there.

She hadn't known.

She hadn't been able to do anything.

She hadn't protected him.

Her entire life had been one in service, dedicated to protecting people. She had abandoned that family to search for and protect the daughter that had gone missing.

But she had failed that, too.

And so she cries, disappointment and grief dragging her down. His arms around her are a bandaid, and she leans her cheek into him and clasps her fingers around his hand desperately. Her grip is like iron, holding onto him for dear life.

"What if you hadn't come home? What if you'd collapsed somewhere and no one could find you? Greyson, what if you had died?"

Greyson Connors

Once again, her moment of weakness and insecurity is brief, a window that closes immediately upon feeling the slightest breeze.

She pulls away, wipes her tears, and pulls herself together.

"You need clothes."

She says this more as an instruction for herself, and she wraps the man in a towel to keep him warm. Urgently, but gently, Gwen pulls him along and back to the bedroom. In there, she has stripped the bed rapidly in front of him to lay down soft towels instead of nice sheets, at least for now.

"What do you want to wear? Something comfortable, or, or.. or..."

Her hand falters on the handle to his dresser, stuck on what sort of boxers he might want. Tears continue to stream down her cheek.

Greyson Connors

Gwen exhales sharply to indicate amusement, but by then she is already invested in her task. She moves quickly and efficiently to put Greyson through as little trauma as possible. When she's done, she cleans it again and covers it in bandages. Only then does she appear to exhale or breath again, and her hands shake.

"I'm so sorry for hurting you, Greyson. Please forgive me."

She rises, wrapping her arms around him to hold him close again. The woman is trembling, crying, though her sobbing is not loud. Once again, she is selfish, choosing to comfort herself when Greyson needed it more.

Greyson Connors

"No? Ah, that is a surprise then, this is precisely how I imagined it."

She's laughing lightly, relaxing enough that she's capable of making jokes. The joke may fall a bit flat, but she blames that on her focus being on washing his wounds. It doesn't take very long for her to do so before she is inevitably toweling him off and pulling him out of the tub.

And once she does, she pulls out peroxide and a needle and thread from her own stash - medical equipment. He didn't wish to be taken to a hospital, so she would do it herself.

"Please be very still, Greyson. It is important that I close this cut, it is very deep."

She waits a moment for his confirmation before getting to it. Steady hands and incredible accuracy have him stitched up in only 3 or 4 small stitches.

Greyson Connors

She can only imagine the pain he is in, and how strong he still is to bear it without complaint. Their trip to the bathroom is short but not without struggle. Gwen is deceptively strong, however, easily half-carrying him should the need arise.

And when she notes his struggle with the button and zipper she doesn't hesitate. There is no shame, no awkwardness, no need to overthink. She merely assists him in removing them and helps him to his feet.

"Lean on me, it is okay."

She then whisks away the man's bottoms, hooking her hand against his elbow to guide him into the shower. Somewhere in the room she's found a clean cloth. Gwen sets to work immediately, washing away the soot that clings to his skin, taking extra care to wash away the muck caught in his wounds.

Blood, dirt, sweat and worry all wash away in rapid streams down the man's legs. One hand always remains held fast to his arm, bearing his weight if he cannot bear his own.

Greyson Connors

The woman wastes no time. She is efficient and careful, her hands warm but not hot, just the perfect temperature to touch but not startle the skin. Numerous wounds and cuts and scrapes are found, countless bumps and bruises. But none are life-threatening other than the particularly deep gash she finds just out of sight.

Fortunately for him, the woman is an excellent seamstress, as well.

Carefully, Gwen rises and pulls him along with her. If she left him behind she was sure he may fall back asleep, and that wouldn't be helpful. It was a miracle she had roused him when she had, most likely.

"I will be with you while you shower, okay?"

There is no embarrassing blush to tickle her cheeks - only severity in the weight of her words. It is less a request and more a declaration. She studies his face a moment longer before pulling him to follow her. They will take as long as they need, and she would eventually set him down on the toilet seat or the edge of the tub shower if he had a tub.

The woman runs the water over her fingers until it is warm.

"Take off your pants, I'll run your laundry and try to get the stains out while you sleep."

Greyson Connors

Her sobbing, however subtle, only lasts for so long.

She holds him tight, burying her face in his neck and stroking uninjured skin with her thumb. The comfort she receives from his embrace works immediately before her attention shifts to one of duty.

He needed a bath, needed his wounds cleaned and dressed, needed a meal.

He needed more than a simple hug could give, and she realizes now how selfish she had been for taking one before focusing on his own needs.

"I need to look at your injuries, Greyson. Can you stand?"

She glances over her shoulder, attention far away for a moment while she remembers the pathways of his apartment. She could find the first-aid kit, find the bandages beneath his bathroom sink. She'd wondered why he kept so many, but now she was fortunate for it.

"I will run you a bath and clean your cuts. You may need a hospital if your injuries are greater than your first-aid kit can handle."

Where is his Comfey? Was she alright?

Gwen pulls out of his arms, either hand clasping around his face to look him in the eye. She pulls open either eye to look for signs of concussion, her expression exasperated with concern.

Greyson Connors