princekiller | it's not a date unless somebody dies

Since Erasmus's arrival, there had been little opportunity for Damen to spend time alone with Laurent. A boy raised as a slave, raised to serve to such a degree as Erasmus, could not be left alone to fend for himself in a world as strange as this. And so Damen had taken him in, taken him under his wing to an extent. Laurent, upon learning that Damen now shared a dwelling with the boy who had been raised to become his personal body slave - even if that boy was still unaware of Damen's true identity - had sworn to not set foot in Damen's apartment.

In truth, Damen did not quite understand the upset, though he knew Erasmus was likely to drop to his knees out of sheer habit should the man he knew only as the Prince of Vere were to enter his presence.

It was partially that reason, but largely that Damen had found himself longing to be near Laurent more and more with each passing week, that found him in Laurent's terrace, lounging upon the chaise with Laurent pressed against his side. Dutch had shown him quite some time ago how to operate the television and had suggested the notion of staring at with Laurent as a courting activity.

Though it had taken some time to find anything both he and Laurent could agree worth watching, Damen could now see the appeal. It was a quiet even. Relaxed. The majority of Damen's focus was centered on the press of Laurent's arm against his own, Laurent's slow and even breathing, the light brush of Laurent's hair upon Damen's shoulder. But even so, he was hardly uncomfortable.

'If I happen to fall asleep right here, will you attend me?' he asked after a long, silent moment, his lips quirked into a faint grin as he smoothed a hand down Laurent's arm.

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'I don't care for her presence either, but we must trust John's judgment,' said Laurent. He held Damen's chin in a gentle but firm grip, first pressing the cloth to the cut on his cheek. The blood came away at once, seeping into the cloth as the liquid that soaked it must into the wound, and Laurent repressed a wince of sympathy.

He moved his cloth to Damen's throat after, paying close attention to the steady thrum of Damen's pulse beneath his fingers. He had not expected to lose Damen tonight. He was too careful, and John too good, yet they had come closer to it than Laurent enjoyed realizing. 'A body can only lose a fifth of its blood before the heart is unable to do its work,' he observed, thumbing Damen's artery.

Behind them, John still worked, and Laurent turned his head. 'I will assist you. Damen, you needn't remain if you don't wish to.' Laurent knew the body bore the face of his friend, and his feelings on the subject were no doubt tender.

"I won't leave her there," John answers, his voice soft. She may have been trying to kill someone, she may not be the woman John knows, but he doesn't feel any better about her bearing Dutch's face than he imagines either of the others do. "I have another bag."

He'd brought it hoping he wouldn't have to use it. It's a large duffle, large enough for a woman of Dutch's size if he gets her into the fetal position. The thought of having to take her apart is worse than having to move her, so he hadn't bothered with tools for that, wouldn't have even known where to begin in Darrow if he'd needed to dismember her. It's a far cry from where he was with Kara and for that he's deeply grateful.

He works with his back to them, wondering if he's in the presence of something personal. Under other circumstances he would leave, but this needs to be done, and he locks the door firmly before he unpacks a bag made of thick plastic and a second duffle. The plastic is to make sure she leaves no trace inside his bag and he takes it to her, unzipping it and carefully lifting her inside, folding the edges over her face before zipping it up again.

"I'm sorry you have to be here for this, but it'd be best if no one left," he says. "Not for a little while at least. The less activity around, the less anyone will remember if they're questioned later."

Despite the sting of the alcohol, Laurent's touch was gentle as he carefully tended to the marks upon Damen's throat. Swallowing, Damen tipped his head back enough to grant Laurent better access, his gaze briefly drawn to John as he moved about the room before sliding back to Laurent once more.

'For someone my size, a fifth is quite a lot,' he remarked with a faint grin. Then, quieter, he added. 'My heart remains as capable as ever, I assure you.'

If anything, Damen felt more secure now in Laurent's loyalty than ever before. For even if Laurent had not been in conspiracy with this other Dutch, he could have easily let the situation rest without any interruption. He could've let Damen die upon her blade, let her cut him up just as she pleased. Instead, he had sought out the help of his friend, this John.

And now he tended to Damen's wounds.

Gently, Damen rested his hand upon Laurent's hip, the most he could allow himself in the presence of another. 'We can stay,' he said, wondering at the equipment with which John worked, the carefully methodical manner. It was obvious he had great experience in this. 'Is there some way in which I can assist? It's the least I can do.'

Laurent continued to clean Damen's cuts, turning his chin this way and that when Damen's attention strayed to John. His hand was warm against his side, and Laurent was grateful for it, even as it lended an odd intimacy to an otherwise somber occasion.

When Damen was clean, Laurent extricated himself to retrieve ice for his ribs, but he paused when he saw John methodically working. The man was always quiet and calm, it was one of many things about him that Laurent admired, but he found as he studied him that he had missed something. There was an extra tension in John's jaw, a grimness to his eyes that didn't speak of long habit. He had done this before, yes, but something was different.

'I apologize,' said Laurent, coming to the truth abruptly. 'I did not realize Dutch also held meaning for you. Please.' John was nearly done with the worst of it, and Laurent could no longer help, but he still had a fully stocked kitchen. 'Allow me to pour you something steadying to drink.'

John is used to cleaning up alone. The aftermath is something he's good at and even though it's been some time since there's been a body to worry about, this has been a job others would just leave him to. Maybe it shouldn't surprise him that they offer to help, but it does just a little and he glances back and smiles faintly, then shakes his head.

"You're hurt," he says to Damen, then glances to Laurent. "But I will take that drink."

With the plastic bag zipped, he's careful to curl her body into a fetal position, then places her inside the second duffle bag. Looking at her a moment longer, he shakes his head, then zips it closed. "We've only met once," he admits. "But I liked her. Like her. She's easy to trust. I can't say that about many people."

Quietly, Damen mourned the inevitable loss of Laurent's touch, but there were important matters yet at hand. His frown deepened at John's assessment and he shook his head. 'I've endured far worse than this in my time,' he said, stepping closer.

It was clear the man needed little help however and Damen's gaze was drawn to Dutch once more. Though hardly the first time Damen had witnessed a fallen friend, this instance was a good deal more unnerving. 'I've known her since my arrival here,' Damen said quietly. 'I appeared in her bed, much to the chagrin of the man who occupied it at the time. Her lover.' His lips twitched into a faint smile at the memory. 'He's since forgiven me. And she... she has taught me a great deal of this place.'

Damen fell quiet for a moment before he turned to look toward the kitchen. 'I believe I'd like a drink as well.'

it's not a date unless somebody dies

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