[ He runs his tongue over his lips, studying Charlie for a long second; his expression remains uncertain, but eventually he nods again. Reluctantly, he tugs the hem of his shirt a little higher, hisses in a breath when the movement pulls at the injury.
[ Given the look on Peter’s face, he’s not entirely sure if this is an act of trust or resignation or something caught between the two, but it’s certainly significant in some way.
He carefully helps Peter tug his shirt off, setting the bloodied fabric aside to deal with later. The bandage comes next, Charlie leaning over to gingerly unwind it from Peter’s middle. He gives the Mark on Peter’s back only a cursory glance- it’s not so different from his own, aside from the placement. ]
You know, this isn’t how I pictured I’d finally be getting you out of your clothes.
[ Peter tenses when Charlie moves toward him, when he finally lays eyes on the Mark curling between his shoulder blades, snaking up the nape of his neck. Some weird, curling thing, the vague shape of which kind of reminded Peter of a flame, whenever he could bring himself to look at it in a mirror.
But whatever Charlie sees, he doesn’t comment on it, and Peter forces himself to breathe out through his lips, arms lifted awkwardly to give Charlie better access to the bandage. When Charlie does speak, the words drag another laugh from Peter. ]
Didn’t realize that was something you’d given any thought to. But I guess spending six months together would make anyone daydream.
[ He sets the bandages aside once he pulls them free of Peter’s bloodied skin. He fishes a cloth from his bag, conjuring a small bit of water to wet it before he sets to wiping the mess away with sure, gentle strokes. ]
I might have thought about it, once or twice.
[ He falls quiet for a beat or two, then, softly, ]
You know, I always sort of regretted parting ways.
[ Gentle as he is, Peter still sucks in a sharp breath when the cloth wanders close to the exposed wound.
He falls quiet, as Charlie continues to work, as Charlie speaks, and he swallows down the first words that rise up his throat:
Me too.
Because Peter always figured he should’ve insisted more, should’ve said he still had a few things left to teach the guy, but that would’ve been a lie. And Charlie dealt with enough lies, enough people trying to direct his life, that he didn’t need Peter trying to drag him into something else he didn’t want to do.
(It’s just stung his pride that the “something else,” in this case, was staying with Peter.)
In those early days, he had missed Charlie’s presence a whole lot. Would find himself wandering through the markets of a town, turning to make some snide remark only to find nothing at his side but empty air. Would find himself picking over some mansion, breaking in through warded windows, wondering if Charlie knew anything about the bastards he was robbing. Would find himself lying next to a campfire, the night dragging on, the silence becoming near oppressive.
It took some adjusting, but eventually Peter reacquainted himself with the solitary lifestyle he had led before Charlie stumbled into his path.
He’s probably quiet for too long before he clears his throat. Offers, ]
I imagine those farm animals don’t offer the same sparkling repartee as I did.
That would be hilarious if I were a farmer, and I’ve already told you I’m not.
[ He spends another few seconds wiping away the rest of the blood. Thanks to the application of Charlie’s healing magic earlier, the wound isn’t bleeding as freely as it had been, but a slow trickle of blood still escapes from the ragged hole in Peter’s back.
Charlie turns away quickly, gathering up his bundles of herbs. Dealing with an open wound is easy enough- he’d done it often, helping the kids in the village tend to their cuts and scrapes, and on one occasion, helping one of their fathers when he got gouged by a wild boar. He gathers up a small pile of leaves and flower petals, things meant to ease pain and promote healing.
He drops them into a small mortar from his bag, taking the pestle in hand to begin grinding them together. ]
I just, I dunno. I figured it would be better if we split up. You put up with me for so long, and I couldn’t keep putting you in danger, but when it was all said and done, I missed you.
[ Peter fidgets a little where he sits, feeling oddly vulnerable with his Mark on display; he was always so damn careful with it, always keeping it carefully hidden with scarves and high collars, never letting anyone at his back if he absolutely had to have his shirt off for whatever reason.
Now, he feels slightly hunted, and he rolls his shoulders, as if he could feel the Mark like a physical weight on his skin.
He listens to the grind of stone on stone as Charlie works, allowing himself a quick wince at the idea of that substance being brushed along his wound. He nearly misses when Charlie continues on, absorbed as he is in thinking about how much that’s going to hurt, but when the words sink in, he blinks, taken aback. ]
... Wait.
[ Peter shifts to turn more fully toward Charlie. ]
You. Were worried about putting me in danger. Even though you knew exactly what I did for a living.
[ His voice has gone flat with disbelief. ]
... You do realize you literally just found me with an arrow in my back, right?
[ He still can’t shake the incredulity that’s come over him, staring fully at Charlie now with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. ]
And we had taken care of that, too, I thought. The impressive acting skills? All the illusions? The red dyes that took nine washes to finally get off my hands and shirt?
Nine Hells, Charlie, I thought you just— I thought you just wanted quiet.
[ It’s been a while, and he can’t quite remember just how readily Peter agreed to Charlie’s idea to split up, but Charlie doesn’t remember him putting up all that much of a fight. Perhaps he’d convinced himself that Peter was ready to part ways, but whatever really happened, he supposes he only has himself to blame for Peter’s misconceptions. ]
I… no. I mean yes, kind of. I wasn’t really… okay, because of a lot of the stuff that had been happening since I left home. I figured it would be better for both of us if we split up, just in case someone recognized me and the whole nasty cycle started over again.
So, yeah. It was a stupid idea, and it was selfish, but at the time I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you because of me.
[ Peter shakes his head, before he huffs out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. ]
Shit.
[ He falls forward a little, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]
Hell. I thought you were just— tired of it all. I assumed you were just ready to settle down somewhere without having to worry about someone trying to arrest you. I assumed you just— once the bounty was out of the picture, I assumed you didn’t—
[ —didn’t need me anymore.
Because Peter had been something like his bodyguard, for a while there. The muscle, the street smarts, though admittedly, Charlie’s magic had gotten them out of more than a few binds. And once Charlie didn’t have his family’s knights breathing down his neck, once Charlie finally decided to leave, Peter felt that pang of loss, but outwardly shrugged his shoulders and let Charlie be on his way. He wasn’t going to force the guy’s hand, after all. Peter wasn’t in the habit of making anyone stay where they didn’t want to stay.
Peter lets out a trembling breath, drops one hand to peer up at Charlie. ]
I don't think I could have found the words, even if I'd wanted to.
[ He stops messing with the herbs for a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
It had taken him a long time to get himself sorted once he was out of constant danger. Longer still to come to terms with what had happened to drive him from home. Some days, he's not so sure he'll ever really come to terms with it. Time helped. Peace had helped. But the loneliness? He regrets it, his choice to break off and be on his own. ]
I told you how my parents hadn't approved of my lover?
[ It comes out quietly. After all their time together it wasn't a subject they had broached again. Like Peter's Mark, it had remained carefully tucked away. A secret, looming in the shadows between them. ]
He had been the head of my personal guard, and when my parents found out, they had him framed for treason and executed. It happened only days before I ran away, and even months later, I hadn't totally come to terms with it, and what it had done to me.
I wanted to keep you safe, and to do that, it seemed like it would be better if I were out of the picture.
[ Charlie can't help the small twinge in his chest, something that whispers darkly in his ear that maybe if he'd been around, Peter wouldn't have gotten hurt. A guilty conscience he hasn't been able to fully get rid of, damning him if he does, damning him if he doesn't.
Thankfully, Charlie's gotten rather good at ignoring that wispy, dark little voice. He shoves it aside, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward in a small smile ]
Hey, nobody's perfect.
[ But that grin is fleeting, and his expression goes serious once more. ]
I am truly sorry Peter. If I could do it over again, I'd have said something. I'd have stayed.
[ He chuckles, following Peter’s gaze to the contents of the mortar. He scoops up the small dish with one hand, the other fishing around in his bag for some clean bandages. ]
Could have been the arrow in your back. Or maybe you just missed me.
[ After another few seconds of blind rummaging, Charlie manages to pull another roll of clean bandages from his pack. He came very well prepared for some shit to go down apparently. ]
Somehow, [ flatly, unimpressed ] I’m not entirely reassured by that.
[ He eyes Charlie’s pack, watches as the guy manages to pull more bandages from it; add that to the herbs he had produced, the tools, and the dressing he had used earlier back in the village, and Peter frowns at him. ]
What were you expectin’ to find when you got here, exactly?
[ He shifts back around to get behind Peter, carefully mopping up the rivulets of blood that have seeped out of the wound while they’ve been talking. ]
In all honesty? I expected to find you in trouble. I didn’t think you’d use the whistle just on a whim.
[ After so long, he didn’t think Peter would use the whistle at all. ]
But I always keep a bag packed like this, in case I had to run again.
[ As practical as that sounds, the fact that Charlie even has to think that far ahead is— kind of sad, if Peter were honest. It means that a year and a half isn’t enough to fully distance the guy from his old life, even with the pains the two of them took to throw his family off Charlie’s trail. Or else it means Charlie’s been living with that constant worry at the back of his mind.
He’s not sure which of those options are worse, but either way, it means the Maxwell family has been haunting Charlie wherever he went, imagined or not.
He tenses as Charlie settles in behind him – not because of the wound (though that’s its own problem), but because Charlie’s positioning puts the Mark directly in his line of sight, makes Peter feel exposed in a way he hates. He rolls his shoulders in discomfort, as if that might shake off the blemish. And despite Charlie’s earlier reassurances, Peter can’t quite bring himself to turn around and look at him to see what might be on his face.
Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap, offers a tight nod. ]
[ It doesn’t escape Charlie’s notice the way that Peter keeps flexing and twitching whenever Charlie’s behind him, and he supposes bone-deep shame and fear over the Mark on his back must be a hard thing to shake after keeping it hidden for so long.
He still hasn’t worked out whether it would be a good thing to say anything or not.
He scoops the paste out of the mortar with his fingers- it’s cool and a little grainy to the touch- and carefully slathers it on the red, angry skin around Peter’s wound, before smearing it over the wound itself, readying himself in case Peter jumps.
Charlie might have downplayed how much it was going to sting.
But he knows from experience, the sharp sting is only momentary, giving way to a tingling, almost numbing sensation. Once he’s emptied the contents of his bowl, leaving a greenish-purplish patch of paste on Peter’s back, he wipes his fingers clean and secures a fresh bandage around Peter’s middle. ]
Try not to move much, if you can help it. That needs some time to sit.
[ His entire body jerks away from Charlie’s touch, once the salve brushes into the wound, and he lets out a single, loud, ]
Fuck—
[ in response, startled and strained. It’s just as well that Charlie was ready for it, because without Charlie to keep him in place, Peter likely would’ve bolted away. Eventually, the bite of pain fades into something like pins and needles, prickly and cold, and he heaves out a long breath. ]
“Shouldn’t sting.” [ He repeats it back scornfully, making a scoffing noise, though he lifts his arms to allow Charlie to wrap the bandage around his waist again. ] You’re a giant liar.
[ Once he ties the bandage off, he plops down to sit in front of Peter, taking a few moments to clean up and gather his things to put them back in his bag. ]
[ Peter grumbles under his breath at the correction. It is fully possible he utters the phrase, “splitting hairs.” At Charlie’s question, though, he tugs his own satchel closer, cringes when he realizes most of the contents of his bag boast a smear of blood from when he had rummaged through earlier. ]
Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
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Tightly, ]
Give me a hand with this.
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He carefully helps Peter tug his shirt off, setting the bloodied fabric aside to deal with later. The bandage comes next, Charlie leaning over to gingerly unwind it from Peter’s middle. He gives the Mark on Peter’s back only a cursory glance- it’s not so different from his own, aside from the placement. ]
You know, this isn’t how I pictured I’d finally be getting you out of your clothes.
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But whatever Charlie sees, he doesn’t comment on it, and Peter forces himself to breathe out through his lips, arms lifted awkwardly to give Charlie better access to the bandage. When Charlie does speak, the words drag another laugh from Peter. ]
Didn’t realize that was something you’d given any thought to. But I guess spending six months together would make anyone daydream.
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I might have thought about it, once or twice.
[ He falls quiet for a beat or two, then, softly, ]
You know, I always sort of regretted parting ways.
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He falls quiet, as Charlie continues to work, as Charlie speaks, and he swallows down the first words that rise up his throat:
Me too.
Because Peter always figured he should’ve insisted more, should’ve said he still had a few things left to teach the guy, but that would’ve been a lie. And Charlie dealt with enough lies, enough people trying to direct his life, that he didn’t need Peter trying to drag him into something else he didn’t want to do.
(It’s just stung his pride that the “something else,” in this case, was staying with Peter.)
In those early days, he had missed Charlie’s presence a whole lot. Would find himself wandering through the markets of a town, turning to make some snide remark only to find nothing at his side but empty air. Would find himself picking over some mansion, breaking in through warded windows, wondering if Charlie knew anything about the bastards he was robbing. Would find himself lying next to a campfire, the night dragging on, the silence becoming near oppressive.
It took some adjusting, but eventually Peter reacquainted himself with the solitary lifestyle he had led before Charlie stumbled into his path.
He’s probably quiet for too long before he clears his throat. Offers, ]
I imagine those farm animals don’t offer the same sparkling repartee as I did.
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That would be hilarious if I were a farmer, and I’ve already told you I’m not.
[ He spends another few seconds wiping away the rest of the blood. Thanks to the application of Charlie’s healing magic earlier, the wound isn’t bleeding as freely as it had been, but a slow trickle of blood still escapes from the ragged hole in Peter’s back.
Charlie turns away quickly, gathering up his bundles of herbs. Dealing with an open wound is easy enough- he’d done it often, helping the kids in the village tend to their cuts and scrapes, and on one occasion, helping one of their fathers when he got gouged by a wild boar. He gathers up a small pile of leaves and flower petals, things meant to ease pain and promote healing.
He drops them into a small mortar from his bag, taking the pestle in hand to begin grinding them together. ]
I just, I dunno. I figured it would be better if we split up. You put up with me for so long, and I couldn’t keep putting you in danger, but when it was all said and done, I missed you.
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Now, he feels slightly hunted, and he rolls his shoulders, as if he could feel the Mark like a physical weight on his skin.
He listens to the grind of stone on stone as Charlie works, allowing himself a quick wince at the idea of that substance being brushed along his wound. He nearly misses when Charlie continues on, absorbed as he is in thinking about how much that’s going to hurt, but when the words sink in, he blinks, taken aback. ]
... Wait.
[ Peter shifts to turn more fully toward Charlie. ]
You. Were worried about putting me in danger. Even though you knew exactly what I did for a living.
[ His voice has gone flat with disbelief. ]
... You do realize you literally just found me with an arrow in my back, right?
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I know, but… It’s different, when it’s the guys who are after me chasing you.
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And we had taken care of that, too, I thought. The impressive acting skills? All the illusions? The red dyes that took nine washes to finally get off my hands and shirt?
Nine Hells, Charlie, I thought you just— I thought you just wanted quiet.
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I… no. I mean yes, kind of. I wasn’t really… okay, because of a lot of the stuff that had been happening since I left home. I figured it would be better for both of us if we split up, just in case someone recognized me and the whole nasty cycle started over again.
So, yeah. It was a stupid idea, and it was selfish, but at the time I couldn’t bear the idea of something happening to you because of me.
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Shit.
[ He falls forward a little, scrubbing his face with his hands. ]
Hell. I thought you were just— tired of it all. I assumed you were just ready to settle down somewhere without having to worry about someone trying to arrest you. I assumed you just— once the bounty was out of the picture, I assumed you didn’t—
[ —didn’t need me anymore.
Because Peter had been something like his bodyguard, for a while there. The muscle, the street smarts, though admittedly, Charlie’s magic had gotten them out of more than a few binds. And once Charlie didn’t have his family’s knights breathing down his neck, once Charlie finally decided to leave, Peter felt that pang of loss, but outwardly shrugged his shoulders and let Charlie be on his way. He wasn’t going to force the guy’s hand, after all. Peter wasn’t in the habit of making anyone stay where they didn’t want to stay.
Peter lets out a trembling breath, drops one hand to peer up at Charlie. ]
Why didn’t you just— tell me?
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[ He stops messing with the herbs for a bit, rubbing at the back of his neck with one hand.
It had taken him a long time to get himself sorted once he was out of constant danger. Longer still to come to terms with what had happened to drive him from home. Some days, he's not so sure he'll ever really come to terms with it. Time helped. Peace had helped. But the loneliness? He regrets it, his choice to break off and be on his own. ]
I told you how my parents hadn't approved of my lover?
[ It comes out quietly. After all their time together it wasn't a subject they had broached again. Like Peter's Mark, it had remained carefully tucked away. A secret, looming in the shadows between them. ]
He had been the head of my personal guard, and when my parents found out, they had him framed for treason and executed. It happened only days before I ran away, and even months later, I hadn't totally come to terms with it, and what it had done to me.
I wanted to keep you safe, and to do that, it seemed like it would be better if I were out of the picture.
[ He shrugs lamely ]
Stupid, now that I think back on it. I'm sorry.
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It's a long moment before he lets out a breath, some of the tension easing its way out of him. ]
You could've said something, you know. You should've just— told me.
And I would've told you that was all bullshit, and that I can take care of myself.
[ A beat. Then, ]
... Not counting present circumstances.
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Thankfully, Charlie's gotten rather good at ignoring that wispy, dark little voice. He shoves it aside, and the corners of his mouth quirk upward in a small smile ]
Hey, nobody's perfect.
[ But that grin is fleeting, and his expression goes serious once more. ]
I am truly sorry Peter. If I could do it over again, I'd have said something. I'd have stayed.
... I'd like to stay now, if you'd let me.
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Not as though you've got much place to go, seeing as how I dragged you out here.
[ A joke, and a lackluster one at that, but Peter's never done very well with serious. ]
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As penance, I'm going to smear this stuff all over your back and it's gonna sting.
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... Why did I call you again?
[ Without any heat, though he plays at a mild sort of resentment. ]
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Could have been the arrow in your back. Or maybe you just missed me.
[ After another few seconds of blind rummaging, Charlie manages to pull another roll of clean bandages from his pack. He came very well prepared for some shit to go down apparently. ]
Seriously though, this shouldn’t sting too badly.
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[ He eyes Charlie’s pack, watches as the guy manages to pull more bandages from it; add that to the herbs he had produced, the tools, and the dressing he had used earlier back in the village, and Peter frowns at him. ]
What were you expectin’ to find when you got here, exactly?
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In all honesty? I expected to find you in trouble. I didn’t think you’d use the whistle just on a whim.
[ After so long, he didn’t think Peter would use the whistle at all. ]
But I always keep a bag packed like this, in case I had to run again.
Ready?
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He’s not sure which of those options are worse, but either way, it means the Maxwell family has been haunting Charlie wherever he went, imagined or not.
He tenses as Charlie settles in behind him – not because of the wound (though that’s its own problem), but because Charlie’s positioning puts the Mark directly in his line of sight, makes Peter feel exposed in a way he hates. He rolls his shoulders in discomfort, as if that might shake off the blemish. And despite Charlie’s earlier reassurances, Peter can’t quite bring himself to turn around and look at him to see what might be on his face.
Instead, he keeps his gaze fixed on his lap, offers a tight nod. ]
Ready as I’ll ever be.
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He still hasn’t worked out whether it would be a good thing to say anything or not.
He scoops the paste out of the mortar with his fingers- it’s cool and a little grainy to the touch- and carefully slathers it on the red, angry skin around Peter’s wound, before smearing it over the wound itself, readying himself in case Peter jumps.
Charlie might have downplayed how much it was going to sting.
But he knows from experience, the sharp sting is only momentary, giving way to a tingling, almost numbing sensation. Once he’s emptied the contents of his bowl, leaving a greenish-purplish patch of paste on Peter’s back, he wipes his fingers clean and secures a fresh bandage around Peter’s middle. ]
Try not to move much, if you can help it. That needs some time to sit.
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Fuck—
[ in response, startled and strained. It’s just as well that Charlie was ready for it, because without Charlie to keep him in place, Peter likely would’ve bolted away. Eventually, the bite of pain fades into something like pins and needles, prickly and cold, and he heaves out a long breath. ]
“Shouldn’t sting.” [ He repeats it back scornfully, making a scoffing noise, though he lifts his arms to allow Charlie to wrap the bandage around his waist again. ] You’re a giant liar.
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[ Once he ties the bandage off, he plops down to sit in front of Peter, taking a few moments to clean up and gather his things to put them back in his bag. ]
Do you have a spare shirt?
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Crap.
[ Bitten out softly, barely voiced. There’s little to be done about it now, though, and he pulls out a crumpled shirt with only a small blood stain on it. He tugs it on, regardless, the stain somewhere on the shoulder, and self-consciously adjusts the collar, lifting it to hide the last remnants of the Mark from view. ]
Where’d you learn all this stuff?
[ With a nod toward Charlie’s bag. ]
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