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It was the sound of shattering glass that woke Lambert. He’d apparently fallen asleep in the chair beside Aiden’s bed. Well, it was Lambert’s bed, but his things were basically Aiden’s.
Said Cat was no longer in bed. The sneaky bastard was across the room, pounding his fists into the shards of what used to be Lambert’s mirror.
Lambert barely registered that he was moving. The taste of Aiden’s blood was on the back of his tongue, and then he was there beside the Cat.
He caught Aiden’s wrist mid-punch. This prompted a snarl from the furious Cat. Lambert snarled back. Goading Aiden to hit him instead of the broken mirror. It was okay: Lambert could take a punch from a half-starved witcher. That was better than Aiden cutting his hand open more.
However, Aiden didn’t hit him. The Cat paused. His scent was all over the place, a mess of a dozen emotions. His fists were bloody, his pupils paper thin; yet, there was a spark of recognition in his madness-blank eyes. He breathed deeply, scenting the air.
It took a few moments, but Aiden’s gaze cleared. Confusion became the primary emotion in his scent.
The Cat looked down at his own bloodied hands, glanced at the demolished mirror, and then fixed his eyes on the floor.
“Sorry,” Aiden mumbled.
Lambert let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then, he said, “That ‘sorry’ better be for your hands and not for some stupid fucking mirror.”
There was no response.
The Wolf wasn’t sure how to scold Aiden while the Cat was like this. Usually, Aiden could handle Lambert’s coarseness and cursing. Hell, the crazy bastard even claimed to like Lambert like that.
That being said, their usual dynamic felt like a bit…much for the state Aiden was in.
So, Lambert didn’t raise his voice or even scold Aiden. He gently guided him to sit in the chair by the bed. The Cat let himself be moved, keeping his eyes on the floor and smelling miserable.
Clean water was already in a basin on the bedside table. Ready to clean Aiden up should he need it. Lambert picked up a clean rag and used it to mop up the blood on Aiden’s hands, making the wounds easier to see. The glint of reflected light told Lambert there were splinters of glass stuck in the Cat’s hands. Fortunately, Lambert’s alchemy equipment tended to migrate. There were already some tweezers in the room. He wiped them off too and then used a weak Igni to sterilize them.
Once the tweezers cooled, Lambert knelt in front of Aiden.
The task was tedious. Not to mention torturous with how the smell of blood—Aiden’s blood—and misery and pain permeated the air. He hated that smell so fucking much, but he did his best to stay calm. He needed to take care of Aiden. Stay calm and take care of Aiden.
Little shards were dropped one by one in an earthen bowl that held soup last night. They made a barely audible tink sound. Lambert tried to focus on Aiden’s breathing instead. Because, that’s what really mattered: Aiden was still breathing and kicking.
Just a bit bloody.
Not dead yet.
Not dead.
“Aren’t you going to ask?”
Lambert didn’t pause in his work despite being a bit startled that Aiden was speaking. The Cat hadn't exactly been chatty since Lambert rescued him. More talking was a good thing though, right? Briefly, Lambert considered Aiden’s question before saying, “You got out of a fucking dungeon a few weeks ago. You’ve got plenty of reasons to want to destroy the shit out of things. I’d rather they weren’t my things, but, eh, I get it.” Maybe, they could dig up something for the Cat to destroy later. There was plenty of old, useless junk laying around in Kaer Morhen.
All of a sudden, Lambert smelled salt in the air. He looked up to see Aiden’s eye had gone shiny with unshed tears.
“Hey, hey,” Lambert said, panicking a bit. “It’ll—it’s fine Aiden. It’s okay. You can burn my whole room to the ground if you want. It’s okay. It’s just things.”
Shaking his head, Aiden started to cry in earnest.
The Wolf didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know what had set Aiden off. So, all he could do was just…sit there and hold the Cat’s hands as he wept.
In the midst of tears and sniffling, Aiden said, “I’m—I’m not—” A big sniff “—I’m not pretty anymore.”
While Lambert was utterly thrown for a loop—beauty was the least of their worries—he automatically replied, “Yes you fucking are.”
“I’m not,” Aiden insisted miserably. “I look like hell.”
“You spent the past six months—at least—in a fucking slaver’s dungeon. Of course you look like hell!” Aiden let out a little sob, and Lambert rushed to add, “You’re as pretty as you can be for that.”
“I’m never going to be pretty again!” Aiden wailed.
“That’s fucking bullshit!”
“I—I don’t have my eye! You liked my eye!” Another big sniff, and Aiden whimpered, “You liked me pretty.”
That took Lambert by surprise. What was this crazy Cat going on about? Sure, Lambert liked how Aiden looked. They were lovers for crying out loud.
What Aiden seemed to be getting at though was that he thought Lambert would be upset with him or something? For looking like he had spent months being tormented in a damp cell? Because he was?
“What kind of shallow fucking shitheel do you think I am?” Lambert growled, standing to loom over the Cat. “I don’t need you pretty. I need you alive.” He gripped the back of Aiden’s neck possessively—forcing the Cat to look at him—and continued, “I don’t care what you fucking look like. You could lose both your eyes. You could lose your ears and all your teeth; you’d still be my Aiden.”
Unabashedly sobbing, the Cat collapsed forward to wrap himself around Lambert. His tears soaked into the front of Lambert’s shirt, and there would no doubt be blood stains from where Aiden was gripping the back of it like a lifeline.
Nosing Aiden’s hair, Lambert mumbled, “Besides, I’m always gonna think you’re pretty. That’s how love fucking works.”
A whine rose from Aiden’s throat. He somehow held no tighter, ripping Lambert’s shirt a bit in the process.
Oh well, it wasn’t that nice of a shirt anyways.