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23
Helen
No matter what I tell Achilles and Patroclus, my thigh is one massive ache by the time we make it back to the room. I barely feel it. Between Paris’s horrible words circling my head and Patroclus’s obvious injuries, I have plenty beyond the physical to focus on.
That doesn’t stop Achilles from bullying us to the couch and snarling when I try to stand. He points a blunt finger at me. “Sit the fuck down and wait for the doctor.”
I should probably find his attitude aggravating, but… Much like when Patroclus stopped me on the treadmill, this is Achilles taking care of me. It’s novel enough to be nice. Aggravating. But nice. People don’t take care of me. Growing up in my father’s house meant showing too much caring was just asking for Zeus to teach us a harsh lesson. We watched it happen again and again with Hercules, and we learned well. Too well, maybe.
I nudge Achilles’s finger away from my face. “Theseus just got my thigh. It’s a bruise.”
“We’ll see,” he mutters. He eyes my catsuit. “That’s going to be a bitch to get off. We’ll cut you out.”
“Achilles.”
He points at Patroclus. “Don’t you start. You can barely lift your arms to your shoulders. I’m cutting you out of your shirt, too.”
“Kinky,” I murmur.
“You have no idea.”
Patroclus and I share a look, and the exasperation I see mirrored in his dark eyes surprises a laugh out of me. It feels good, so I do it again. “Gods, Achilles, you’re a delight.”
“I know. It’s good you’re finally figuring it out.” A knock on the door has him heading in that direction after one last severe look at us. “Behave, you two.”
The doctor is a short, wizened woman with medium-brown skin, a tight bun of graying hair, and thick square glasses. She sweeps a look over us. “Injuries?”
“My thigh is bruised.”
Patroclus hesitates but finally sighs. “Face. Ankle.” He shoots a guilty look at Achilles. “Ribs.”
“You motherfucker.”
The doctor snaps her fingers at Achilles. “That’s enough out of you. Either help them get out of their clothes without commentary or leave.”
Instantly, he ducks his head. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Better.”
He grabs a pair of scissors from the kitchen. It feels far more intimate than it should for Achilles to sit so close, his handsome face a study in concentration as he carefully pulls the fabric away from my skin and cuts. The scissors are a cool slide with each snip, and a few minutes later, he peels the catsuit off.
He’s just as careful with Patroclus, though he glares at the other man the entire time. “You should have said something.”
“You would have worried.” A thin thread of pain hints at exactly how hurt Patroclus is. Or maybe—hopefully—it’s just adrenaline letdown. Bruises can hurt like motherfuckers. It doesn’t mean he’s seriously injured.
Worry curdles my stomach. “Look him over first.”
“You have one injury. He has several.” The doctor pokes and prods at my thigh and straightens. “A bruise. Ice it. If you weren’t in the tournament, I would say take it easy for at least a week.”
“That’s not an option,” I say quickly.
“I’m aware.” Her tone is dry and unamused. “It might give out if you put too much stress on it, so keep that in mind during the next trial.”
“Thank you.”
She examines Patroclus next, asking a series of terse questions. I look over her head at Achilles. I’ve never seen him so sick with worry and guilt. He carried Patroclus out of the maze over his shoulders. If Patroclus has broken ribs…if that action made them worse… I can practically see those thoughts going through the big man’s dark gaze.
Neither of us take a full breath until the doctor sits back. “You’re lucky. I don’t think anything’s broken. I would like to get an X-ray of your ribs, though. To be sure.”
“They’re not broken.” Patroclus touches his side gingerly. “I’ve had broken ribs before, and it was different.”
She sighs. “Very well. Be stubborn. I can’t force you to get care.”
Achilles bristles. “Get the X-ray.”
“I’m fine.” Patroclus shakes his head. “I’m exhausted and filthy and want a shower, a meal, and bed. But I’m fine, Achilles. I swear it.”
I don’t know him well enough as an adult to know if he’s lying. It’s strange to realize that. It’s been less than a week of being close to him, but it feels far longer. At least until moments like this when it’s readily apparent that my knowledge is only skin deep.
But even Achilles looks at him like he’s not sure what the truth is. Finally, he shakes his head. “If I find out you’re lying, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“I know.”
Achilles turns to the doctor and gives her a polite smile. “Thank you so much for checking them out, ma’am.”
“Ice and rest.” She turns and walks out the door.
