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Jesper wasn’t entirely certain what to expect after the many locks on Kaz’s door finally gave way to his clumsy hands and shiny lockpicks.
Yelling, perhaps: for intruding, for him to get out. At best, he expected to be outright ignored.It wouldn’t have surprised Jesper to be waved away with a gloved hand and an irritated expression, without so much as a glance.
But the shutters were drawn tight and Kaz’s brow even tighter. Brekker was sprawled on his narrow bed; twisted in cream sheets that looked to be damp with sweat. His cane was abandoned on its side in the middle of the floor alongside his mud crusted jacket. Jesper realised with a closer look that Kaz’s boots were still on his feet. The laces dangle untied over the side of the bed; perhaps he had begun to take them off and found it a worthless attempt.
Drunkenness was the most logical answer. In the heart of the Barrel it was rare to go more than a few feet without stumbling over the abandoned body of a drunkard. They scattered the streets reeking of brandy and bile. But Kaz Brekker held his liquor well. The orient glass bottle, stolen long ago from the Van Eyck mansion but now with a permanent home on his desk, was largely full. The attic room was dark and damp, but Jesper’s keen nose couldn’t chase alcohol in the air beyond his own breath.
“Kaz?” He tried softly.
When there was no response he slunk in, old wood creaking beneath his feet, and closed the door tightly. Jesper carefully replaced the bolt.
“Oh, Kaz.” Jesper murmured, the slightest pang of sympathy washing over him as his boss's face came into view.
Kaz’s hair was slick to his high brow with sweat. Even his cheek and neck had adopted a new flush of red. His jaw was tight. An arm guarded his eyes; shirt sleeves shoved up to his elbows but gloves still on. Despite the sweat and tint of his skin, Kaz was trembling as if freezing.
“Boss,” Jesper tried again. “You drink too much or catch that bug going around?”
He couldn’t contain his shock when Kaz not only responded, but without expletives. A pathetic sound; a sibling of a whimper and a moan, squirmed its way between tense lips.
Jesper felt his stomach drop, but his eyes did their duty without further instruction: immediately searching for blood pooling around a poorly concealed wound.
Kaz was sprawled on his back, torso twisting to the side in a position that looked unspeakably awkward. His bad leg was propped on a pile of wrinkled blankets. It was as if his body was trying desperately to get away from the damage; seeking as much space between the outstretched limb and his aching body.
A weight sunk in his stomach at the notion that Kaz might be in such pain. That it was a pain that haunted him night and day. Jesper wondered how often he had hidden away so nobody would see his clenched teeth.
The mattress shifted under Jesper’s body, as he crouched on the edge, receiving more of a response than his voice had. Kaz’s hand entangled itself tighter in the sheet and his body arched.
“Shit, sorry.”
“What,” Kaz bit out, voice so hoarse it was nearly gone.
“Are you sick? What’s going on?”
He shuddered.
“It’s cold.”
“It’s the dead of winter and you are in the least insulated room in the whole damn building.” Jesper chided. “ You aren’t going to get over this fever if you stay up here.”
Without further thought, Jesper reached over to help him up, wrapping a hand over Kaz’s cloth covered upper arm. His head lolled like a rag doll as he was raised up. Kaz batted the touch away, startling so bad that his grip loosened enough to send can sprawling back to his side.
“Hurts.” Kaz ground his teeth tighter, cursing himself as soon as the bitter admission dripped from his tongue.
It was too late to shove his vulnerability back in its shell, but perhaps not too late to be delivered a glass of whiskey. Kaz Brekker hurt. He lacked the words to properly describe the pain. His body was revolting and dragging his mind down with it. Dizziness swam at his temples, threatening to spill the meagre contents of his stomach to the floorboards.
The muscles in his legs and lower back were spasming, attempting to contract until they snapped. His bones throbbed deep in his marrow. But worse, was the nerve pain spider webbing up his spine and through the very fibre of his being.
“Did you get shot or something?” Jesper questioned, tapping his fingers against the pearl handles of his revolvers. “Or is it your leg?”
The leg was a subject the Dregs avoided, lest they be beaten or fired on the spot. It was hard not to notice, of course; the thud of Kaz’s heavy cane could be heard striking firmly against the rough Ketterdam cobblestones from blocks away. When the cold set in, Jesper noticed the way the sole of his leather boots unevenly worn away, from days when even a cane couldn’t keep his bad leg from dragging behind him a bit.
Surely, Kaz had noticed Jesper shift in behavior at times like these. He didn’t acknowledge it when Jesper was increasingly keen to run errands out of his hours in Kaz’s stead. Nor the shots that Jesper pushed his way the moment Kaz’s uneven gait sounded across the Crow Club.
Jesper had seen Kaz’s leg bothering him. Jesper had seen Kaz in pain. Jesper had seen Kaz stubbornly sewing his own wounds with a dull sewing needle and trembling from blunt force or blood loss. Hell, once Jesper had hauled Kaz’s limp body home, wool coat and all, up the creaking stairs of the Slat to deposit his bruised body in bed before slinking off to lick his own wounds.
But Jesper had never seen Kaz Brekker cry. And yet, there the tears were. Slipping unpermitted from Kaz’s tightly shut eyes and dripping salt onto his upper lip.
That was enough of an answer for Jesper.
“What helps?”
When Kaz didn’t respond, unable to push past the pounding of his heart through his ears, he continued.
“Ice?”
Kaz shook his head firmly, but didn’t offer an alternative.
“Do you have any medical supplies up here?” Jesper muttered, more to himself than Kaz. He stomped to the shotty bathroom tossing his chartreuse waistcoat on the chair as he went.
It shocked Kaz to long for the familiar timbre of Jesper’s voice, but it was the one thing tethering his aching bones to the damp Ketterdam earth. He turned his head to the side searching for the ugly coat and warm Zemini skin.
“Damn, for someone in a near constant state of medical crisis you are truly lacking a decent first aid kit.”
“Have you considered that it has all been used up?”
“You must have something for pain in here.”
Kaz forced himself upright with his arm, leaning back against the old headboard. Blood blood in his mouth as his canines broke through the chapped skin of his lip.
“Fuck.”
Jesper reached a hand to help, dropping the crate of medical shit to the floor. But the threat of touch, even through fabric, set Kaz reeling back with enough force to smack his head against the wall. He let his eyes slip shit as his body tensed and shuddered uncontrollably. His goosebumps skin burned with each brush of fabric.
When he managed to peel swollen lids back from his eyes, he was alone. If not for the abandoned box of disinfected and bandages Kaz would have assumed the conversation was nothing more than a figment of his imagination. In an attempt to ease the pain his nerves so boldly brandished, Kaz buried his face in a hand. The urge to scream flooded his system.
He didn’t dare move any further leaving his head lolling uncomfortably to the side. Pain shot through his leg with an intensity that froze the blood in Kaz’s veins. His palms were damp inside his gloves, making the leather squeal as Kaz clenched his fsts over the searing pain in his hip.
Footsteps sounded up the stairwell just before Jesper burst back into the room. He was just in time to see Kaz turn his head a bit to the left and retch. Jesper was no more than a tall, blurred figure in his vision, and he hardly had the strength to jolt away from the looming press of skin against his.
“Okay, boss. I sent a runner to Wylan’s- we will get you over there. His medic can come, there’s food, and more than these ratty blankets to prop your leg on.”
“Never gonna make it across the Barrel.” Kaz rasped as Jesper gathered his coat from the floor.
“I’m not an idiot, Kaz.” He scolded. “I had Wylan send the carriage over. It’s big enough that you can lay down.”
Kaz dutifully forced himself upright, nearly dragging his hand through bile. His vision went black as his leg jostled. Everything in him felt the need to reject Jesper’s offer of care, but quickly an arm was around his waist, stealing the breath from his lungs. Jesper practically dragged him into the chair next to his bed. Kneeling to lace his boots, it was hard to miss the hollow look in his eyes. Kaz trembled from head to toe but remained silent as Jesper tied his left boot lace into a little bow.
Carefully tightening the shoe string of Kaz’s stretched bad leg, Jesper murmured apologies when the pale boy moaned into his fist.
“Almost done.” He tried to soothe, tying the lace looser than the previous boot.
Kaz let curses drip from his lips unfiltered as he was hoisted to his feet. The sole of his boot hit the floor and set a blinding shock of pain through his nerves. He was certain for a fleeting second that this was it. He was destined to collapse to the splintering floorboard and die like this. As soon as his cane was nudged back into his hand, sanity crept back in.
“Don’t touch me.” He growled, finger itching for the oyster knife under his pillow.
Jesper obliged, holding out the dark, wool coat and politely ignoring the way Kaz balanced on one leg, leaning to the side more than the Slat itself. He limped towards his desk with teeth clenched; unsure of what he planned to do when he got there but determined to evade Jesper’s obnoxiously sympathetic eye.
“Kaz,”
“No. Jesper, I have work to do. I’m fine.”
Kaz took another lunging step forward. His face was wet with sweat or tears. Jesper wasn’t sure which to hope for.
“Wylans is warm. There are pillows and a fire and hot water bottles. Plus, he has all the good liquor.”
That was incredibly tempting as the floor came up to meet Kaz’s face. It was only Jesper’s arm around his shoulder that kept his temple from the sharp corner of his desk. Jesper’s boot bumped his calf and Kaz instinctively curled up on himself as the pain worsened. He cried out uncontrollably, and didn’t have it in him to flush. Jesper pressed his cane back into his shaking hand and slung Kaz’s arm over his narrow shoulders. The brush of fabric against pale skin hurt worse than the knife he’d taken in the scuffle with the Razorgulls a few weeks back.
Jesper grinned, flashing white teeth against dark, Zemini skin. Leading Kaz, without permission towards teh creating staircase Jesper heaved a sigh.
“I think you need a good drink, my friend.”