Chapter Text
Part I: Bind
In the small guest house adjoining the backyard, your tools and supplies sat perfectly organized for the dark and dreary seeking your services. But weeks had passed since your last patient. The operating table sat unused along with the over-pillowed and blanketed bed.
Strolling back to the house, you pulled out your maps to continue your real work. The work that ruined your life and rebirthed it with meaning. Stacks of notes dotted the kitchen table, color-coded to reflect notations on the oversized map of the continent. It was lovely and aesthetically pleasing, but only since you had the time to do it.
Though with fewer patients each month, the time and money would slip. While patients paid for their stay over recovery, some paid you in something far more valuable: information. Which unfortunately didn't matter the longer you went without the money.
Photos of locations and people stuck to the cabinetry at odd angles you swore had meaning. There was more on the exterior of the cabinets than inside. But you didn't need much. An average kitchen with an average living room for an un-average person on an unreasonable quest.
Poking at the mark on your wrist, you scowled at the way the name was written. Black and shaky, it looked like it was carved into your skin. It coursed down the vein like it followed an uneven river. Whatever it could have mattered before, it didn’t now. You didn’t imagine you’d meet them at this point since you lived hidden away from the world.
You scribbled a note on the side of the map and sipped your morning coffee. The sun barely crept over the sky when you heard a knock at your door. A thump, really, with the intention of being a knock.
You snatched your knife from the counter and slipped it under your sleeve. You didn't usually have problems, but you were working with people others wouldn't, after all.
Morning light flooded the living room as you opened the door. A tall man with dirty blond hair hunched over, clutching his side. He leaned on the bannister for support, trying to string words together but he swallowed each before he voiced his concerns.
Blood pooled on your porch, adding to the already inseparable stains from every bodily fluid imaginable.
“They never said the doctor was a pretty, little thing,” he coughed out.
You kept your face even, displeased. You’d dealt with his types before and a quick warning was the best policy. You flicked the knife from your sleeve and held it under his jaw. He stilled, but his aura shifted like he wanted to make a move. But from the state of him, it was unlikely he’d be able to do much (for now).
“Three rules if I heal you,” you said, sliding the flat of the knife under his jaw until it hit the tip of his chin. “One: you pay me with money and information, but both can be negotiated. Two: keep your hands to yourself. And three: stay out of my house.” You tapped the knife against his chin, watching the intent building and then dying in his eyes. “Deal?”
“Deal.” He coughed with a smile. “You made your point.”
“Fantastic!” You smiled and let out a laugh as you dropped your knife from his chin. “Sorry about the knife. I just need to be careful.” You slipped it back in your sleeve. You stepped outside and locked the door. He followed you into the backyard, doing a good job to keep his pain as quiet as possible. You were long past the point where you’d ask your patient's name, but you liked his blasé attitude to his injuries and it would be fun to have a name to the face.
Like he read your mind, he slunk up beside you. “Name’s Phinks.” Hunched over he looked much shorter than he would be at his full height.
“Nice to meet you, Phinks.” You offered a hand, laughing as he wrapped a single, unbloodied finger around your own. “My name’s none of your business.” He pouted and you shrugged with a smile. “You can call me Doc.”
“Fancy meeting you here, Doc,” Phinks said, looking around like he was waiting for somebody or something. “Want the sob story? It’s a good one.”
“Depends on how well you tell stories.” You held the door to the guest house open for him.
He shared his tale of misery, with limited hand motions. You thought he’d have given a more animated retelling if he weren’t pale and desperately in pain.
“I’m surprised they got you.” You patted the table, offering him a seat. “You don’t look like an easy guy to kill.”
“Were you planning on it?” He smirked. “I wouldn’t try.”
“I want your money too much,” you said, snapping your gloves against your wrist as you tugged them on. Each glove missed the thumb and middle finger covering. “I’ve got better things to do than kill the transients that meander into my office.”
“But you could.” He hissed as he laid back to let you examine the wound. He took another look at the open door and you kicked it closed with a harsh look telling him to stay down.
Phinks dropped his hands from his stomach to let you examine his gash. “I can put people down if needed.”
“Like dogs?”
“Like rodents.” You reached for your tools. “Who else is coming?”
Phinks raised his brows. “You caught that, huh?”
“You don’t seem like you work alone.” You felt the warmth of your ability in your hands. Phinks' wound met the criteria for healing. Poor guy. “This will hurt.”
“No sugar-coating it,” Phinks said.
“What was I thinking?” You smacked your hand against your head. “Be a good boy and count to three. I’ll give you a lollipop.”
“Just do it,” Phinks said, sounding too amused for the pain he was about to receive. “If they show, they show. I got separated over a day ago.”
“Then let’s make sure your friend finds you alive,” you said kindly. “You can tell me all about them after I heal you. We’ll see if we can find ‘em. Oh, last thing, do you want to be awake for this?”
“You’re not drugging me,” he said.
“Fine by me.” With that, you dipped your finger into his wound. Phinks yelped and grabbed your wrist. You gave him a sharp look.
“I need blood from the wound,” you said, “I’m gonna heal it inside out and to do that, I need to be in the wound.”
“Fuck.” He pressed his head back and dropped his hold on your wrist. “They said it would suck, but you’re evil.” His mouth quivered with a smile. “My friend would love you.”
“You can tell them when they get here I’m not interested,” you said. Starting again, you activated your Nen. Slick blood seeped into the pads of your middle finger and thumb. Pressing them together in the wound, you allowed your ability to expand beyond the joined fingers. Phinks cursed but stayed still as the sting of his own blood turning on him kicked in to force the healing process against his body’s wishes. At least you wouldn’t need to tie him down. Feeling the slimy grit of organs, you scowled. The wound was deep enough to kill him on the spot, but he hadn’t died and somehow made it to you. Tough to kill, indeed.
His skin illuminated gold around the wound as tendons and bone rejoined. Rivulets of color sprung through his veins, lighting up his torso like a fireworks show. It would burn terribly, but part of the process was convincing the body it wanted to be healed. With a wound like this, the body wanted to give out, not accept the bone-deep, vicious burning sensation.
Phinks cursed and hit his balled fists against the table. Sweat pooled at his hairline, dropping into his eyes as he strained his face to remain still.
Ignoring his outburst, you continued your work until the wound was at a manageable level, enough that you could stitch it freely and wrap it.
“I’m going to stitch it up, but you’re going to have to stay a while,” you said, pulling your gloves free and tossing them in the trash. “At least one night while I make sure your body doesn’t decide to reject the healing.”
“Not like I have anything better to do without Fei, I guess,” Phinks said, his voice strained like he was on the verge of passing out. He probably was.
You figured Fay would be the one who’d come looking for him. Perhaps his girlfriend or colleague.
Phinks babbled as you stitched and wrapped the wound. By the time you were done, his eyes glazed over and he fell asleep. You sighed and dropped to a crouch to cover your head. The pressure in your temples from your ability never got better. The migraine had already started and it wouldn’t stop until you threw yourself into the dark and didn’t come out until the light stopped burning.
You looked up at Phinks. He wasn’t going to move. So no going to his bed, but you could bring the bed to him. You held his neck up just enough to slip a pillow under his head. Holding the blanket in your fist, you debated putting it on him. After taking his temperature, you decided against it.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, big guy.” You left the blanket on the chair beside the table. Filling a glass at the sink, you gave him water and painkillers he could take when he woke. You topped it off with a note to call if he needed anything.
Your spine tingled on the walk back to the main house. You turned back to the guest house. The door was still closed. Even in broad daylight, you body felt more prey than person. Looking down the street and back the other way, you couldn’t see anyone, but you could sense them, feel them. They were concealing themselves only enough not to be seen. Whoever it was, they wanted you to know they saw you. You only hoped it was the Fay person Phinks had mentioned, and that they wished you no ill will. But there was only one way to find out.
“Phinks is healing,” you called out to wherever. “He needs some time before he’ll be fine. Don’t grab him and run in the night. I’m not done healing him.”
You waited for somebody to respond. The only indication you weren’t alone was the feeling of their aura slithering closer. Their electric presence streaked through your veins like it wanted to pull you from the depths of the ocean and shock you conscious. Opening up to their presence would wake you and throw you from a jagged cliff back into the chilling ocean waters. A ghastly cycle of birth and death.
Shaking the feeling away, you walked back towards the house, keeping your composure as well as possible. This presence awaking every part of you didn’t need to know they had such an effect.
“He’s not in the main house,” you said at a casual volume. The presence was close. “So stay the fuck out of here. If you’re craving a good old fashioned B&E, do it in the guest house where your friend’s sleeping.”
Again, nothing but the overwhelming sense that you were meant to move closer.
“Stay out.” You pointed towards the street, hoping your watcher would see it.
You shivered as you locked the door behind you, certain you’d heard a chuckle and silky voice respond: “Perhaps.”
“Shit.” You slid down the door, looking up to ensure the dozen locks were in place. It had been ages since you’d regretted taking a client. Phinks seemed fine, just talkative. But it was this ghostly presence that came with him that set every sense on edge.
You sat at the table with your maps for hours, waiting for the presence to open your door. Whether they knew you were waiting or not was yet to be seen, but you figured they probably did. Head pounding, you still refused to sleep before a call from Phinks for food.
The door to the guest house was still locked when you arrived.
“We won’t need to bother finding your friend,” you told Phinks as you handed him warm broth. “They’re here.”
“You saw him?” Phinks said, chugging the broth like he didn’t have a healing gash across his stomach.
“Didn’t see him,” you said. “Menacing presence? Hides in the shadows oozing wrath? Doesn’t answer direct questions?”
“That’s him.” Phinks smiled.
“He better not kill me tonight or you’ll probably die too.” You smiled but fought a real ounce of concern. Not that Fay had done anything that warranted concern other than be annoying. But there was something so off-putting about his presence that made you uneasy.
“Can’t guarantee it,” Phinks said.
“Fantastic,” you said. “If you can move, let’s get you to the bed so you can sleep tonight.”
After a shower to remove the remaining blood, you could barely stay awake. By the time you fell asleep, the thoughts of the strange presence had dissipated. The creak of the door opening didn’t wake you, or the aura invading your space, or the man himself sitting on your couch waiting for the moment you’d wake up and find him.
Besides, he had nothing better to do without Phinks.