Viktor Krum (viktoriouskrum) wrote in quiddproquo, @ 2012-10-06 20:24:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | emlyn rosier, viktor krum |
WHO: Viktor and Emlyn
WHAT: Getting injuries repaired and revisiting old ones.
WHEN: Saturday evening, the 6th of October, 1998.
WHERE: Kenmare Kestrels pitch.
SUMMARY: After getting pummeled on the pitch, Viktor visits the Catapults physio. Someone he happens to know already.
RATINGS/WARNING: PG-13. Swearing.
STATUS: Complete.
Once he was off the pitch, the healer had managed to piece him back together, although Viktor hadn’t been the easiest of patients. He could handle pain, but with that thing in his gut just barely under the surface of his skin, it was provoking him more than normal. He was growly, and he knew it. Shiban nelepo. Maĭnata mu. His mind was a steady stream of cursing. And a few of them might have been growled out as well, his voice rough and raw. The healer had given him his space. Something about how dark and hard his eyes were… Once his shoulder had been clicked sharply back into rotation, which Viktor endured with gritted teeth, the healer fixed his yet again broken nose. The cartilage grated and scraped as it snapped back into alignment.
The bludger had done considerably more damage, and the muscles in his shoulder, upper chest and back were a mass of pain. The healer mentioned something about tears, and needing to see the physio, but Viktor was barely listening. He was working hard to calm and focus the thick, poisonous tangle of negative emotion and hungry lust in his throat. His real anger was acting as a trigger, and an attraction for that part of him that he tried to divorce from himself. The part that said and thought things that Viktor knew he didn’t say and think. Not anymore.
It took him a second to realize that the healer was trying to tell him that he was done, and Viktor might have shot a fierce scowl at him for the interruption before registering what he was saying. And then the word ‘physio’ connected. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not today. Not today of all days. The emotions that he had just begun to get a handle on leapt up in a jumble, dancing a jig in his stomach. Only this time they were tempered with very real apprehension. An emotion that Viktor wasn’t too familiar with. He knew exactly who the Catapults physio was. And he had no bloody idea how he was going to see her and talk to her. Or what the fuck he was going to say.
Sliding down off the bed, Viktor growled under his breath and bit back a wince as his feet hit the floor and the impact jarred his shoulder. He shot a quick, heavy scowl at the healer from under lowered eyebrows and then stalked out of the room. The physio’s room wasn’t too far. In fact, it was a spare thirty seconds to reach. But with his mind in such chaos, Viktor managed to drag the trip out to about triple that. Which really wasn’t much. But it gave him a few extra seconds to breathe. He reached the door. Standing stock still in front of it, his face twisted into a strange mixture of regret, anticipation, apprehension and anger, Viktor just waited. Taking one deep breath, he turned the handle with his good arm and stepped into the room.
-------------------------------------
Emlyn had been watching the game from beneath the stands, not far from the entrance to the visitor's rooms at the Kenmare pitch, and had seen the exact moment the Kenmare Seeker had attacked their Seeker. And as the bludger slammed into Krum's shoulder, she knew he would be coming to see her. A shiver of apprehension had slid along her spine and she had turned away to stride back into the visitor's room. Ever since she had heard that the Catapults had managed to recruit Viktor Krum, she had been dreading this game. She hadn't seen him in person yet. Emlyn had been working with players over the summer who had been injured at the end of the last season, but Krum was apparently fit and didn't require her assistance (a fact she was thankful for).
Now, he would be heading her way as soon as the healer was done with him, and Emlyn felt a brief momentary urge to refuse to treat him. Her professionalism wouldn't let her. He was one of the players now, and that meant she had an obligation to treat him, no matter how uncomfortable he made her feel. While she waited, she tidied up the already tidy room, keeping her hands busy in order to distract herself from the slight tremble in them. The last time she had seen Viktor Krum she had been in a hospital bed, weak and barely conscious, fighting for her life. Because of him.
Hearing the doorknob turning, Emlyn's heart leapt into her throat, but she steeled herself and drew her professionalism around her like a suit of armour. Her eyes met his as he stepped into the room. Fear flashed through Emlyn's before she could do anything to prevent it, but then her professional mask slid firmly into place and she gestured towards the massage table in the middle of the room. "Take a seat, Mr. Krum."
Picking up Krum's file, she saw the Healer's notes appearing across the page (a spell similar to the journal network linking the Catapults files so they were always updated as each specialist added their notes). Reading them quickly, she immediately saw what she needed to do. "Alright," she said, quietly but firmly, setting the file back down on the desk by the wall and walked over to stand before him. "I see you've torn several muscles. I'm going to start by assessing your range of movement, which will determine what we need to do."
Swallowing, she looked up at him, her hands hovering before him (still with a slight tremble that she was refusing to acknowledge), on the verge of touching his arm but stopping just short. Normally she would get started, but normally she wasn't afraid wary of her patient. "May I?"
-------------------------------
The flash of fear in her eyes as he stepped into the room and saw her for the first time in four years was like a stab to the gut. Viktor’s own eyes closed for a second, his face twisting with heavy regret. The black and icky part of himself that he hated liked that fear, it fed on it. And Viktor swallowed down the disgust he felt for it. For that thing in him that could ever think that way, or respond that way to fear. Her fear. It was too close to the surface. Just barely contained. And he hated it. With a fierce, burning passion. He hated that she was afraid of him. Hated that he’d given her a reason to be. Hated that he had never been able to show her who he really was. And he hated all the more fiercely for how close to his skin the cancer that he’d created was.
That all flashed through his mind in seconds. Viktor opened his eyes again, dark and pained, his face a mask. He quietly moved to the middle of the room, feeling his height all the more strongly. Feeling how intimidating he could be. And wishing, so desperately, that he could mask it. Awkwardly maneuvering himself, he slid up onto the massage table, holding his injured arm stiffly away from himself. He watched her, quietly, eyes focused solely on her without distraction. The roiling assault of emotion that he’d been fighting with had zeroed in on her, and he wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the sudden weight given to regret, remorse and apprehension. It gave him a focus to force back the anger, heat and rage. But it was a reminder, blatant and physical, of what and why he was where he was. And who he was.
She was quiet, professional and calm. But Viktor didn’t miss the tremble in her hands. Mainly because he was looking with an intense purpose. And his lips firmed, eyes closing again briefly. At her question, he opened them again directly on her face, look down at her from his greater height (even while sitting down). “Yes.” His voice was roughened around the edges, but as quiet and gentle as he could make in that moment. Viktor held himself still, wishing once again that he wasn’t so tall, so big. Especially compared to her. It just made the wrongness, the fear, all of it, that much more glaringly obvious in his mind.
-------------------------------------
Emlyn's stomach was fluttering as she stood in front of the man who had almost killed her four years ago. She had felt nervous around the players before, back when she had first started this job as they were all taller and stronger than she was, but the nerves had quickly been soothed by how they'd acted around her, some friendlier than others, but mostly they just wanted her help so they could get back out on the pitch faster. One or two had hit on her, but she had dealt with it deftly and managed to maintain both her dignity and her relationship with the players. Not once had she ever felt as unsafe around the other players as she did around Viktor Krum.
At his acceptance, she reached out to grasp his forearm and bicep, her small hand barely making it halfway around the muscle as she gently directed the movement, watching his face closely for signs of pain or discomfort. She had a feeling (based on experience) that she knew how far he would be able to go before it started hurting, so she didn't push much beyond that, only going just far enough to confirm what she already knew. His reactions were subtle, so subtle that she almost missed them, but she was studying him so intently, half out of a fear-induced self-preservation instinct, that she caught them and was careful not to push beyond that point just yet. He was so much larger than her that she had to move closer than she'd like, his knees brushing against her stomach as she reached up to curl her hand around his bare shoulder, pressing as gently as she could to get an idea of how the muscles were reacting as she moved his arm.
Emlyn was dismayed to realise how much treatment he was going to need. Anything beyond today was too much in her estimation, but she wasn't going to let it show. She would do her job to the best of her abilities and she would have to trust that he wasn't going to do anything to jeopardise his job. Trust. That was a difficult thing to come by on a good day, but even more difficult when it involved this man.
Gently, she lowered his arm to rest where he had been holding it before she had started and circled the table to carefully press her fingers over his bare back, feeling how far the damage extended. She wished there was some magical solution to this, a quick fix that would have him on his way and out of her vicinity as quickly as possible, but for injuries of this kind, magic could help speed up the process, but couldn't heal it completely.
Walking back around to the desk where she had left his file, Emlyn picked it up and began writing her notes in it, careful never to turn her back on him. "I'm going to need to see you every second day for the next week, possibly longer depending on how you respond to the treatment and if you complete your exercises at home. Also," she added, knowing how some Quidditch players could be, "if you overdo things. I'm going to give you a set of instructions that need to be followed to the letter. If you try and speed up the process by doing more, you're only going to set yourself back. Rest is a vital part of your recovery and shouldn't be underestimated."
----------------------------------------
Viktor’s eyes stayed on her face, watching her as she started to work. He held still, letting her small hands direct his arm, teeth gritting at the stabbing aching pain as his arm rotated and stretched to the limits of what he could handle. He had a high pain tolerance, and he almost never showed it on his face. Ever. That even subtle hints of it were apparent showed clearly just how seriously unsettled he was. He had to be nearly a foot taller than she was, Viktor thought almost out of nowhere. His knees were touching her stomach as she worked, and her hands couldn’t have fit around his bicep. It made her seem so fragile. And drove home just how desperately he hated what he’d done to her. She’d been utterly defenseless.
He’d tried so hard that summer, sending owl after owl, trying to talk to her. She’d never known him before, other than being students in the same house. And he’d never gotten a chance to show her who he was afterwards. In a sense, who he was now had been formed by what had happened to her. What he had done to her. Whether it had been accidental or not. The price of his lust for power had nearly cost her life. And he couldn’t fault or blame her for her fear. He wouldn’t have blamed her for hating him. But over the last four or five years, her name had been burned into his mind. Her face. And for some reason, her opinion of him mattered more than anyone else.
She moved out of his range of sight, and his muscles twitched slightly as her small warm hands pressed against his back. Viktor knew that the damage wasn’t as light as he wanted it to be. He was aware enough of his own body to be able to tell. And as she moved back to the desk, his eyes focused in on her as soon as she got back within eye sight. As she spoke, the predator in him noticed that her back was never turned to him. Not once. The man in him felt a wrench of pained remorse. The schedule she laid out caused a mixed reaction. On the one hand, the professional athlete was irritated at having to spend so much time healing when he wanted to be on the pitch. On the other, the jumbled and confused mess of a twenty year old was almost grateful for an excuse to see her. In the process of having her check him over, the rage and hunger had subsided in the face of much stronger emotions. And Viktor was almost surprised to find himself calmer than he had been when he’d entered the room.
“Yes.” He agreed quietly. Viktor wished he was better with words. Wished that he had any idea how to start. How to say even a quarter of what he felt like he needed to. He was afraid of scaring her. Afraid of starting out wrong. Afraid to say the wrong thing. Fear wasn’t an emotion he dealt with much. He didn’t like it. At all. What must she feel like being in the same room with him? She had much more reason to be afraid than he did. “I will listen,” he said, his voice soft. If he couldn’t figure out what to say just yet, at least he was going to have an opportunity to say more.
-----------------
Emlyn wasn't looking forward to spending so much time in his company. She was proud of herself for how she was controlling her fear and managing to behave as professionally as she would with any of the other players on the team, but she couldn't wait until he left and she could let go of the tension that was keeping her alert, ready for an attack that probably wouldn't come. Even if she had been aware that an attack was imminent back at Durmstrang, she couldn't have defended herself against it. The magic he'd used was unknown to her, even now, and she couldn't defend against the unknown. That was possibly the scariest part of all this. He used magic she couldn't hope to comprehend, let alone fight against, but she had to force those thoughts out of her mind or she would never be able to get through this.
Placing the file back on the desk when she was finished writing, Emlyn walked back over to stand before him. Her stomach flipped again at being so close, and she couldn't help noticing again just how much larger he was. If he wanted to, he would have no problem overpowering her, but again, all she could do was trust that he wouldn't. "I'm going to show you the exercises you'll need to do every day, morning and night," she said, her voice as calmly professional as it had been throughout this entire ordeal. Her hands gently directed him through a series of exercises until he was able to do them himself, without her help.
"I've written it all out for you," she said when she was confident that he knew what to do, and turned to the desk to grab the piece of parchment she had left there with the instructions all written out in her careful handwriting with the exercises along with duration and frequency. "If you have any questions, please come and see me. It's important that we get this right, in order to get you back on the pitch as soon as possible. The potions the healer gave you will help you heal, but in order to get your range of movement back, you'll need to work on it every day."
She wanted to request that he leave his wand behind before coming to see her, but the fact was it made no difference if he had a wand or not. The magic he had used against her had been wandless, so there was no guarantee that she would be safe if she asked him to leave it behind. She momentarily debated making the request anyway, but the last thing she wanted to do was open the door to the past.
----------------------------
Viktor knew that he was quiet, but it had been a long time since he’d been this taciturn. Being around her was like returning to the seventeen year old, the one that had the weight of the world on his shoulders and didn’t know to relate to anyone else. She was being so determinedly professional. In spite of the fact that she was required to treat the man that had almost killed her. Respect seemed a small word for what he felt about that. Viktor silently followed her direction, focused and quiet, his movements gentle. He made a determined effort to keep himself as small as possible, drawing into himself almost.
He wanted to make things easier for her. As much as it was within his power to do so. Once they were done with the exercises, he slid off the massage table, wishing the second he did that he’d stayed put. He loomed over her, the foot of height difference incredibly obvious. He took the piece of parchment from her, very gently. “Thank you.” His voice was quiet. The turmoil that he’d entered the room with had fallen away, his attention single mindedly focused on Emlyn. The remorse, and the need to try and talk to her, somehow, had completely overruled everything else: Aidan, the black parasite he lived with, all of it.
And since words weren’t his strongest point, Viktor decided then and there that he would just have to show her. And he was being given an opportunity to do so. If he could just show her who he was, maybe she’d be able to hear him. He moved for the door, pausing before he opened it, his back a little tense. Turning his neck, he looked over his shoulder at her, dark eyes settling on her face. “Thank you,” he said again, his voice a little rougher, a little more raw, as he alluded to more than just her services as a physio.
--------------------------------
That little sliver of apprehension slid along Emlyn's spine again as he stood, highlighting just how much larger than her he was. She hated the feeling of helplessness that suddenly struck her and thrust it away, asserting her professionalism in its place. "You're welcome," she replied, her voice equally quiet as she gazed up at him, not about to take her eyes off him until he had gone. Despite all her silent reassurances that there was nothing he could do here, she couldn't stop feeling wary around him. She knew first hand that he didn't need a wand to do an impressive amount of damage, and given his height and strength, he didn't need magic to hurt her.
She stood still, waiting for him to walk out that door and out of her life at least until their next session, the schedule of which she had written on the parchment he was now holding. Her eyes met his when he turned back to her, expression impassive, and she nodded briefly, choosing not to acknowledge the depth of his words.