Who: Katya and Gideon What: Part 2 When: After the hate crime Where: Gid's Apartment Warning: Akwardness!
She was lucky he was home. With the hours he kept, the constant in and out of the apartment with no real predictability, finding a time when he would be home for sure was something of a game of hit-or-miss. Today, fortunately, was a hit, in her case. Sharp hearing picked up on the knock despite his mind’s preoccupation with other things (if all else failed he fell to maintaining his gear, and with the outage having removed anything resembling productive from the equation it was as good a diversion as anything), and after rolling everything back up in the cloth and securing it under the couch he crossed to the door, combat knife in hand. It never hurt to be prepared, and he wasn’t exactly expecting visitors.
Particularly one the glance through the peephole presented. He would have thought she would skate under his radar for days, from her end anyway, at least until she’d worked through the shock of their last meeting. Evidently not. After slipping the knife back into its sheath under a pant leg he opened the door, peering out into the hallway and fixing her with a look that was equal parts bemusement and, once he realized the shape of her was off somehow, something akin to concern, if the narrowing of eyes was interpreted correctly. The door opened wider, wide enough to admit someone, and he stepped aside to let her in. “What happened?” It wasn’t a particularly warm sentiment, but then few things about Gideon were. Katya didn’t have to wait long for him to open the door, and she was thankful for that. The tears might have begun to fall, but she didn’t pay them any attention. She needed help, from someone who knew what they were doing. “I think I broke something,” she said softly, stepping inside. “I...did not know who else to go to. Do you know...how to fix me?” she asked, looking at him. She needed to know if she needed to go somewhere else, but she had a feeling he would be able to help her. “I am not sure the extent of my injuries. The adrenaline did much to mask the pain,” she explained. “Yeah, it tends to do that; one of the few things it’s good for.” He gestured to the couch, leaving her to draw the conclusion for herself, then disappeared down the hallway. Rummaging could be heard while he located the first aid kit (because few self-respecting mercenaries with any amount of ability don’t have one on hand), and within a few minutes he had returned with it in hand. It was more of a duffel bag, abeit a small one, and unzipping it once he dropped it to the floor next to the couch revealed it to be much better stocked than the average citizen’s. “What hurts the most, and what happened? Not necessarily in that order.” He spoke tersely, not so much because he was irritated with her as he was at whoever had done it. It didn’t matter who, or why (although he wanted to know, of course), but a small voice in the back of his mind decided that something would have to be done about it. He’d known she ran around fighting crime, and experience said that she would have to get hurt through it eventually, but he hadn’t given much thought to it. For a reason, honestly, one he was feeling the edges of right now. And he didn’t like it. Katya nodded, chewing slightly on her lip as he gestured to the couch and disappeared. She took the hint and sat down, wincing as she did. Her side was sore, particularly when she put pressure on it, and her arm hurt when it wasn’t bent. There were some cuts and bruises, and Katya also knew there was a possibility she might have a concussion given the number of times she had hit her head. When he returned, Katya sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself. She needed to maintain herself for his sake.
“My ribs, the right side. I do not think it is broken, but it could be fractured or bruised. The man who punched me was rather...determined to cause as much damage as possible,” she explained. “My arm is also in pain. I cannot straighten it without unbearable pain,” Kat added, wincing at the memory of trying to straighten out her arm back in the alley. She was quiet for a few moments as he worked, trying to explain what had happened. “I think...I was targeted because I am Russian,” she admitted quietly. Gideon grunted, acknowledging the theory, but said nothing. If she had been looking for sympathy she’d come to the wrong place; while he didn’t approve of using race or ethnicity or any kind of difference as an explanation for violence, he didn’t really have much room to comment. He killed people, and far worse, for money, which really wasn’t that much better. It was worse, actually, since he didn’t have a neat cookie-cutter excuse, he just did it. Empathizing, commiserating about how wrong they were for taking something she couldn’t control out on her, would have been hypocritical of him. He wasn’t a touchy feely guy anyway; that kind of thing happened, it was human nature. People lashed out at the Outsider, the one who was Different, because they stood out. It was terrible, but it was life.
He was honestly more pissed off about their target.
Rising from the duffel, he moved to sit next to her to better assess the damage, shifting the arm towards him with an amount of care that seemed somehow out of place for him. “This will probably hurt, but trust me it’ll get better,” he commented, and this too came out less roughly than usual. Her shoulder was a hump more than a shoulder, muscles bulged and twisted to accommodate the bones pulled out of true; fixing it would be unpleasant for both parties, but necessary. He moved, then gestured for her to lie down, mouth set in a firm line that demanded silence as he bent to the task, and after navigating to something approximating the necessary setup there was a tug that seemed to go on forever as the bones slid against each other before finally popping back into place. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding before glancing over at her. “Better?” She was silent as he sat next to her, looking her over in a way that she had come to associate with some of the other looks he had given her in the past. At least now she knew it wasn’t because he was physically attracted to her. A hiss escaped her lips as he moved her arm, but Katya nodded, trusting him.
She laid down as he indicated and closed her eyes tightly, clenching her teeth. Katya was silent as she waited, having noted the firm line of his mouth. The pain that shot through her arm was immense, though she was careful to only let out a soft whimper as the only indication that she was in pain. The minute her shoulder was back in place, the pain lessened a great deal. She focused on her breathing, evening it out for a few minutes before lifting herself up, careful to use her better arm. “A bit, yes,” she answered. “Thank you,” she added a moment later. “Wait until I’m done before you thank me,” he commented dryly, already moving on to the next thing. He nudged her arm aside to get to her side, pressing carefully to try to figure out how bad it was, working quickly and efficiently. He clearly had some experience with this kind of thing, if the first aid kit hadn't been enough proof.
"So the guys that did this. Did you get any names or anything? Do you know them?" Clinical. Detached. Just a normal question, an expected one for this kind of situation, nothing sinister behind it, at least not if you took it at face value. Underneath was a different story of course, one in which the information would be used to track them down and teach them a little something about beating on an innocent girl (and if they didn't make it through the lesson than all for the better as far as he was concerned), but to those unfamiliar with the assassin's various undertones, it seemed harmless enough. An understandable investigation, under the circumstances. Katya did her best to conceal the outward signs of distress past a simple “That hurts” or “Not there.” She didn’t ask questions or hesitate as he moved her body the way he needed to in order to check over her. “There were six of them,” she elaborated. “I did not get names, and they were not familiar to me. I believe they were collegiate aged, and a few of them had experience fighting.”
It was all she remembered of them. “I did not use my powers very much. Only softly, so as not to be caught. I do not think they were Creations,” she added, knowing that would help eliminated some of the suspect pool. Damn. So much for that. Although if they’d taken their aggressions out in a certain way once, it was always possible they were repeat offenders, that they did this kind of thing often. And if that was the case, they could be caught. Or...cameras? “Where were you?” Depending on where, maybe a camera had caught it. And while facial recognition software could only get him so far...at least knowing what they looked like would help in the search somewhat.
There wasn’t much to be done for the ribs; they weren’t broken, only bruised, so taping them was pointless. Painkillers would kill most of it if she didn’t want to deal with it, and time would kill the rest. The only things left were the cuts and scrapes, and none of them looked too bad, but he cleaned them himself anyway. “Go easy the next couple days or it’ll take longer for things to heal up; and before you say anything, I can afford to be the exception. You can’t. Did you pass out before you got here?” There was no transition between statements, just one and then the next, as if they were somehow related. They weren’t, not exactly, but they were both relevant, and tact wasn’t always something Gideon bothered with. “The Russian grocery store just a few blocks away,” she replied obediently. She didn’t quite care why he wanted to know, though part of her thought that perhaps it was because he was her father. She was starting to accept that perhaps it was true, given how well he was able to fix her up without having any medical training, at least to her knowledge.
“I will,” she informed him, nodded obediently again. She was very tired, and now that some of the pain had lessened, Katya felt herself becoming more and more drowsy. “I didn’t,” she said softly, letting her eyes close. She felt herself drifting off and didn’t think anything of it. “Hey.” He snapped his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, frowning slightly. “Did you hit your head at all? A pretty good whack, not just a little tap.” It might be something, it might be nothing, but he’d seen “nothing” turn into “something” in a matter of moments, and while in those situations he hadn’t cared (considering he’d been the one causing it), this one was different. It was the middle of the day, there was no reason for her to be feeling this tired this early. Katya was startled by his snapping fingers and opened her eyes instantly. She was a bit disoriented, eyes wide as she focused on him. “Wh-oh. Hi again,” she said brightly, though it was only about half as bright as her usual cheery tone. The volume made her wince, and she brought her uninjured hand to rest on her forehead, closing her eyes again. “Can I go back to sleep?” It was almost a whine, not quite, but it was probably Gideon’s equivalent of a wine. He shot her a look, pulling her hand away from her face and shifting to look at her intently, tone terse and slightly irritated that she hadn't answered him. "If you answer the question? Maybe. We'll see." He didn't like the way she'd flinched, or the way she was acting in general, and his first thought was concussion. Which, again, could be something he had to worry about, could be something he was overreacting over, but he wouldn't know for sure until she answered the question. Katya tilted her head to the side, taking a moment to remember the question. “Yes. A few times. I cannot remember how many. The walls were hard,” she answered, voice drifting into uncertainty as she spoke. She had a slightly unfocused look about her, but after a few moments, she re-focused on Gideon with large, hopeful eyes.
She remembered their previous conversations, of how he would skirt around her questions until she refused to answer his questions until he answered one of hers. “I answered your question. I will ask mine now, and you have to answer because I answered yours,” she informed him very seriously, not unlike a child would speak to an adult. She paused then, trying to think of an adequate question. There were so many that she wanted to ask, but none of them seemed like the right thing to say. Finally she decided on, “Is purple your favorite color too?” ...Gideon hadn’t been expecting that one. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t that. “Dude. Seriously? You’ve got the chance to ask anything you want, and you want to know if I like purple?” He rolled his eyes, and muttered under his breath as he guided her chin so he could look at her eyes better. “I seriously hope that’s the concussion talking or we may have a problem.” Moving a finger in front of her face, he watched her track it; delayed, but nothing anybody needed to worry about. Probably. Anybody hits their head against something repeatedly and it would be more of a surprise if they didn’t get a little disoriented.
His jaw tightened as he again had the urge to find the kids responsible, and he let out another frustrated huff as he released her. “I’ll be back,” he muttered, this time audible enough for her to hear as he stood. He needed to get up, to do something besides just sit here or he’d probably go stir crazy and do something stupid. “Don’t fall asleep,” he warned as he left the room, heading for the kitchen. Tea. That might help, at least give him something mechanical to do; he was fairly sure he had a gas-powered hot plate around here somewhere. Damn power outage. Katya waited patiently for an answer, following his finger as best she could. It was somewhat difficult to focus, and at the end of it she was somewhat dizzy from the effort she needed to concentrate on the movement. He muttered, just loud enough to hear, though Katya almost missed it. She was too focused on waiting to hear the answer to her question. It wasn’t until he was walking away that she realized he hadn’t answered her question. She was tired, and her eyes drifted closed just as she remembered his order to not fall asleep. “I’m awake!” she chirped, forcing her eyes open. She found something to focus on, and that was her unanswered question. “Do you like purple, as well?” she called, though she winced shortly thereafter due to the volume.