Who: Preston and Eli What: Preston in drag goes to pick Eli up. Where: Virginia Mason hospital and surrounding. When: After this. Warnings: None, gasp!
Eli was not truly very injured. The bullet had, as he’d told the not-robot, merely grazed skin and burnt a hole in the fabric of the shirt he’d been wearing at the time. It was entirely theatrical, his throwing himself upon the floor, and he was sorry that it had caused both Preston and Isobel to worry.
By the time Eli had signed the papers allowing him to be released against medical orders, he was in a fine strop. The nurses wouldn’t bloody well leave him alone, and the press had already pushed their way into his room twice. He had only just managed to get his jeans back on without a camera flashing in his face, and he’d borrowed a shirt from one of the nurses before fighting his way through the photographers. Honestly, as if he had any idea what had caused the not-robot to intervene on his behalf.
Eli had ventured as far as the waiting room, the Property of Virginia Mason shirt he wore stained through at the side, and he studiously looked out the window, searching for the first hint of Preston’s staid car in the parking lot. He ignored the men and women around him, and he considered penning an outraged editorial once this was all said and done.
The car was half a block down. How Preston had planned on whisking Eli away from the hospital was anyone’s guess, but as he moved against the crowd, he knew that he hadn’t planned on doing that at all. He knew very well that no matter how badly Eli was hurt, he would still tell Preston that he was fine, and that he was going home quickly. Preston wanted to see how badly Eli was hurt, and he knew exactly how to do that.
So, to all appearances, it wasn’t Preston moving through the crowd with determined irritation; it was Isobel. The blue eyes snapped and the blonde hair might have been a little too much in place, but to every eye, it was her, and Preston would use her blood relation to Eli to get where he wanted to go.
He realized that it was Eli at the writhing mass of flashes and reporters, and belatedly changed his course. “Eli!”
Eli looked up when he heard his voice called. He recognized Preston’s voice, but he did not see the taller man in the crowd, which confused him a moment. And then, then he saw Isobel, looking slightly too put together. He’d just finished texting with his cousin, and he knew she was waiting for Preston to bring him home. His eyes narrowed, even through the annoyance and soreness, and he pushed himself to standing with an annoyed “do leave me alone!” to the people that surrounded him. “Iso?” he asked, his voice a touch cranky in its disbelief.
Preston shoved past two people who were surprised at the demure blonde’s strength, and he just stopped short of hauling Eli into a hard grip, in case he was injured. A hard hand cupped the back of his neck and pulled him close, though. Preston stopped himself from kissing him, and then from falling over out of sheer relief. “Er,” not-Iso said. “No.” Lowering his tone even quieter he said, “You better say something about how I’m your cousin. This doesn’t work so well in photos.”
“Honestly, Eli said in a whisper that was part annoyance, part fondness, part something uncomfortable at his own almost-touch of fingers to Preston’s - no, Isobel’s hip. “My darling cousin,” he said, too loudly and with a touch too much joviality. “Do pry me free of these vultures.” He spelled vulture for the nearest reporter, in case they needed it, and he smiled at not-Isobel. “I signed myself out,” he said. “I believe we should go?” There was an honest request in those blue eyes. Home would be a very good thing just then.
Preston as Isobel couldn’t quite touch Eli’s forehead because Isobel was rather shorter than he was, so it was just an awkward touch down the spine he could reach and then he pulled away. He kept his voice to a whisper despite the straining ears above the shouting questions. “I’m down the street. Can’t be seen here, with these people making assumptions.” He took Eli’s hand, unable to get a good look at him in the press of the crowd. “You’re sure you should leave?”
“Iso, love, you can take care of me when I get home,” Eli said, a pointed statement referring to Isobel’s ability. “The press is driving me bloody mad,” he admitted, and they were. “Interested in a robot like it was something beyond a silly remote controlled toy,” he added, loud enough to be heard. He pushed someone aside with one last bit of strength, and he walked toward the door. Down the street seemed quite far, but it was better than sitting in the waiting room a moment longer.
Preston put an arm around Eli’s waist. It was a bizarre feeling, because Preston’s elbow wasn’t at the same level Isobel’s would be, and he had more physical presence even if Eli looked to his left and didn’t see his shoulders there. He made a soft amused sound in the back of his throat at Eli’s parting sally, and he guided them both off down the street. His fingers found the shirt on Eli’s other side and drew back with a darker sound of distress. “You should stay,” he hissed.
Eli took Preston’s - Isobel’s - fingers and dragged them back to pull along the injury with a hiss. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t dangerous. It smarted like a bloody bitch, but it was nothing Isobel couldn’t handle. A few reporters followed, and Eli caught the sound of their feet on pavement just before he said something entirely stupid. “How much further?” he asked, because the car seemed like the promised land just then. “You’ll have to stop me from writing a rather scathing letter to the editor.”
“Because I’m going to be doing it first,” Preston growled, supporting Eli as they moved along and taking the outside to prevent pursuit. “Not too far. We just need to lose them, is all. Hold on.” He turned the corner--fast. He tipped Eli against a wall, like someone pouring tea, and kept a hand on his shoulder. Something... rippled in the air between them. Suddenly Preston appeared in Isobel’s place, very clearly lit up in the gray Seattle light. He was staring right into Eli’s eyes with what looked like enough concentration to hurt. “Don’t move. Tell me when they go.”
The first reporter, the one in the lead, turned the corner expectantly and stopped short, blinking twice at whatever Preston had painted for him to see.
Eli did not understand. He glanced toward the reporter, and then back at Preston as if he’d gone completely bonkers in that moment. “What?” he asked, and he left it at that, because the reporter looked confused, but he was not screaming that Isobel had just undergone a sex change. The other reporters followed, and Eli watched them, waiting to be surrounded at any moment, but they left a second later, and Eli looked back at the man in front of him. “What the bloody hell did you just do?’ he asked, but he gripped Preston’s forearms gratefully, more willing to do it now that it was no longer his cousin before him.
Preston’s arms were tense as his shoulders, hard and unyielding. His focus seemed to waver at the question, but he couldn’t afford to listen to what it was. Bringing two images up so quickly was extremely difficult; crafting an illusion for two meant he had to drape it over the actual person to the specifications of their natural dimensions, like a tailor sewing a garment that covered the whole body. Then he had to clearly see three dimensions of the people he was using as the cover and ‘stick’ them in place so they moved properly and looked real. These were probably not spotless, but Preston was hoping that they were only looking for Eli’s face, and when they didn’t see it, would pass over the people Preston constructed. “They gone?” he asked, vaguely, not blinking.
Eli made a sound that was an impatient yes, and he quirked a brow and awaited a response. He didn’t understand how Preston’s ability worked, not truly, and he thought it as thoughtless as his own, which required no particular work. His fingers on Preston’s forearms flexed and relaxed and flexed again. “You’re not to be my cousin in the future. It is confusing in an entirely unpleasant way.”
The strain went out of Preston’s eyes and brow, and his shoulders slumped a little. Suddenly the air seemed a little fresher, and the light became a hair brighter. “Don’t make it necessary, then. Give me a second to catch my breath. The car is right down this way. I will wait until you are better to yell at you.” He kissed Eli on the cheek and stood up straight. “Ready?”
“Catch your breath?” Eli asked, trying to get a good look at Preston’s face. “Why do you need to catch your breath?” he asked, gaze going suspicious. “Does this hurt you? This thing you do that you should not be doing?” he demanded, voice rising slightly, even beyond the kiss to his cheek, which surprised him. It was enough to make his voice lower and the tension seep out of him a little. “We’re back to that, are we?” he asked.
“Back to what? It doesn’t hurt me, Eli. It’s just... like solving for the differential while answering two phone calls.” He slid an arm behind the other man’s back, careful to avoid the wound and prevent anything from pulling on it. “Come along.”
Eli didn’t fight the arm behind his back, and he did not fight the direction in which he was led. In fact, he leaned heavily against Preston’s side, perfectly willing to allow the other man to bear his weight. “Back to random acts of affection,” he said, smiling as he said it. “Your robot is a bloody menace, you realize,” he added.
“I realize,” Preston said, soberly. He appeared to concentrate on their footing, glancing back the way they had come as they approached the sober black car. “Would you prefer me to not?” he said, trying to avoid sounding hurt and failing, for the most part.
“No, I would not prefer that at all,” Eli said easily, hearing the hurt and glancing over at Preston as they walked. “Unless you met someone in China you feel I should be informed of,” he said.
Preston opened the doors with a remote and met Eli’s eyes haphazardly as he got the passenger door open. He didn’t say anything about Eli bleeding all over his seats, either. “No, no one comes to mind.” It was almost a smile, a fond one. He waited to see if Eli needed help getting in.
Eli did not, and even if he did, he would not have asked. He slid into the car with hardly a wince. “You are mooning at me, Preston. Do get in the car and drive,” he said fondly, reaching for the door and closing it carefully out of pure stubbornness. Once he was seated, however, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes.
A moment later, the car was started, and they were on their way.