The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time: Pt. 8
Silco x f!reader - 7.6k words - SFW
cw: fluff, angst, anxiety/dread, injury, medical anxiety, health and illness, taking care of people, talk about self-defence and physical assault, get your seatbelts on lads we’ve got another emotional rollercoaster chapter, but with a fluffy ending bc it’s me
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7
If someone had told kitchen-utensil-salesperson you that one day you’d be having to bribe the Eye of Zaun’s daughter, to keep her quiet about your relationship with said kingpin, you’d have laughed in their faces and told them to get lost.
But alas, here you were.
You’d had a long chat with Jinx about why you weren’t telling people and why she couldn’t tell anyone either. And after surprisingly little convincing from the two of you, Jinx had agreed to keep your secret… for a price. Sweets once a week for every week she kept it a secret.
Dear Janna, was this girl Silco’s daughter.
She’d also sweetened the deal by throwing in a few extra game nights every month, so that’s how you find yourself sitting at Silco’s desk, Jinx on your lap in the chair opposite his, as you play yet another round of Gun Bun.
Silco is, rather annoyingly, picking incredibly obnoxious words on purpose when it’s his turn, (seriously, how many nine-year-olds know the word egregious?) so you decide that this is the perfect opportunity to mess with him.
At first, you simply decide to spell all of your words wrong, irritating him just a little bit more with every line drawn as he fails to guess the correct letters.
Once he cottons on to that, correcting your spelling like a disappointed teacher, you move onto the next level…
You start making words up.
Jinx giggles and squirms about in your lap when you whisper your nefarious plan to her, earning a narrowed look of suspicion from your criminal(ly gorgeous) boyfriend.
Unfortunately, this tactic only works for one round, because when you finally complete the drawing of Mr. Bunny shooting a gun (complete with the obligatory BANG!) and Silco still hasn’t guessed all the letters, Jinx reveals the word with a menacing glee.
And Silco loses it.
“That is not a word,” he says, immediately glaring at you since you’re the obvious instigator.
He looks so grumpy and so adorably exasperated, you just want to kiss him until he forgets both his own name and just how difficult you like to make his life.
“It is!” you argue, staring at him whilst you valiantly battle against the urge to smile, before revealing, “I just made it up.”
His whole expression drops into the most incredulous deadpan.
“Darling.”
“What?” you counter. “All words are made up! It’s not my fault you can’t keep up with me.”
There’s a pause where Silco just stares at you, mismatched eyes glimmering with something just on the edge of dangerous.
You stare back, raising one cheeky eyebrow in challenge. That does it.
“I think it is best we retire for the evening,” he says, tone clipped and impatient, though his eyes never once leave yours.
Jinx whines in disappointment, climbing from your lap onto the desk just so she can launch herself into Silco’s lap. She clings to him like a kitten until he finally gives in to her and agrees to one more game, as long as it doesn’t involve any words.
Which of course means your absolute favourite activity in the whole, wide world. Drawing!
You teach them both a game you played as a child, one where a piece of paper is folded three times, in a way where you can only see one section at a time.
The first person secretly draws the head and shoulders, with some lines over the fold into the next section so the second person can join it up. They then flip it over to the next section, where the second person draws the torso and arms, while the last person then draws legs and feet, making sure to keep your separate drawings hidden until the very end, where you reveal the character you’ve all made together.
You go first to demonstrate, drawing the head of a smiling girl that looks a little bit like Jinx (you know, if Jinx were a squiggly, blue doodle).
After Jinx and Silco have both drawn their sections, you open up the paper and spread it flat on the desk, revealing, to Jinx’s delight, an absolute monstrosity of a character.
Underneath your smiling face, Jinx has doodled a thin torso with long spaghetti arms that loop round and round until their hands rest on their hips. But it’s nothing compared to Silco drawing his own boots and somehow forgetting that he needed to draw legs as well.
You play this game for a few rounds, until it’s Silco’s turn to draw first. Except he takes a millennium, sketching with his pen like he’s in the middle of an art class. But it’s only when you spot him gently rocking the chair from side to side, almost imperceptible to the untrained eye, that you realise he’s trying to lull Jinx to sleep.
And surprisingly, it works, humming quietly under his breath until she falls asleep in his lap, adorably curled up with her face against his chest.
Once he’s certain that she’s fast asleep, he lifts his head to give you a knowing look before carefully lifting her and carrying her back to her bedroom. You take the look to mean that you should get changed into your pyjamas so you can both cuddle up when he returns from putting her to bed.
But when you stand up from your chair, groaning as you stretch your tired body towards the rafters, you take a moment to peek at Silco’s drawing, sliding the paper over the varnished wood until you can finally see.
And you swear your heart melts in your chest when you look down at it. A portrait of you, looking happier than you’ve ever seen yourself looking. At least, up until you’d moved in with Silco. Now, you’re pretty sure you look like this most of the time.
You’ve begun to stay in his bedroom a few nights a week, usually when he doesn’t stay up working until dawn like a madman.
Your (imaginary) spy training has gotten a real workout every morning, ensuring no-one sees you make the dash back to your own bedroom, then getting dressed to go and meet Silco in his office like you hadn’t spent the whole night in his bed.
Honestly, part of you wonders if it would just be easier to move some of your clothes into his bedroom, but you’re not sure if he’d want that. The man does have a lot more clothes than you do.
And what if he’s not ready for you to both officially move in together? How would you even approach asking? Should you just do it and blame the goblins when he asks if you put them there? (They’re cheeky little bastards, you know, they’ve stolen enough of your socks from the washing machine.)
You’re just preparing to leave the office, peering around the corner of the doorway to make sure there’s no-one in sight. You’d left the kingpin snoring in his bed just moments ago, and it’s far too early for Sevika to be anywhere near The Drop, so you’re pretty confident you’re not gonna be caught.
Crouching down a little feels like a good, sneaky spy move, so you bend your knees slightly, duck your head, and begin to tip-toe down the hallway as quietly as you can.
And honestly, even after only a few steps in, you’re genuinely starting to feel like you could break into one of those fancy art museums Topside and complete the heist of the century. That is, until a low voice calls out behind you.
“What in Janna’s name are you doing?”
Janna herself would be proud of the way you hold in the blood-curdling scream that threatens to erupt from your vocal folds.
Instead of waking up everyone in the entirety of Zaun and probably some of Piltover, you clutch your chest and hiss out a wheezing, “Holy fucking fuck-”
You spin around to glare at Silco who is standing in the doorway to his office, coffee cup in hand as he leans nonchalantly against the frame.
How didn’t you hear him sneak up? And how the hell did he manage to wake up from being borderline comatose AND make himself a coffee in such a short amount of time?
You squint at him suspiciously as if that’ll make him reveal all his secrets. Maybe he should be the spy…
Silco looks rather amused as he watches you.
“Has anyone ever informed you that you possess quite the potty mouth?” he asks, in that raspy morning voice that is far too hot for its own good.
“Has anyone ever informed you that it’s rude to try to give your girlfriend a heart attack on purpose?” you shoot back.
He holds his free hand to his t-shirt clad chest in mock offence.
“I can assure you, my love, I was attempting no such thing,” he protests with the guiltiest look you’ve ever seen in your whole entire existence.
You point at him as a threat.
“Boy, don’t test me. I’ll take you out of my will.”
Silco’s face drops into a faux upset, slapping one hand against his cheek dramatically.
“Oh no, whatever will I do without your collection of novelty ice-cream scoops?” he questions sardonically.
You return it with an overexaggerated gasp, (but deep down you’re secretly pleased he’s starting to play along with your melodrama; oh how the turn tables).
“How dare you!” you exclaim, throwing both hands up to cage your poor, shattered heart, before you turn your nose up to sniff haughtily. “That’s it, I’m breaking up with you.”
Silco swiftly downs the last of his coffee and then tosses the mug onto the sofa behind him blindly, instantly changing your mind on what you just said.
How the fuck did he do that without it breaking into a million pieces? And more importantly, how is he easily the hottest man in the world?
“I think not,” he practically growls, stepping forward into the corridor.
“You can’t stop me,” you announce loftily. “Me and the Scoop Troop are outta here.”
He advances on you slowly until he’s leaning down to speak into your ear, the roughness in his timbre sending a shiver down your spine.
“Then I suppose I shall have to convince you to stay.”
Abruptly, Silco leans down to pick you up, deftly swinging you up into a bridal carry, forcing you to try your best not to squeal and accidentally wake everybody up.
Then, he turns on his heel and carries you back in his office, kicking the door shut behind you as you giggle breathlessly into his chest.
Maybe the reason you look so much happier now after moving in with Silco, is because you are.
-
Of course, spy training in the mornings is not the only kind of training you embark on.
True to his word, Silco begins to teach you self-defence after the multiple attacks you’ve endured since accepting the job as his negotiator. (To be fair, you’d endured some during your time at the market stall too, but that had been at a significantly lower danger level compared to this.)
So you’re in the bar one early afternoon, a few of the tables pushed out of the way to give you room to properly move about. Silco has given strict orders that no-one is to enter the bar until you’re finished, which had earned a huff of annoyance from Sevika, who would be forced to take the long-winding emergency exit in and out of the building.
Standing across from Silco in the cleared space, you ready yourself to learn some basic defence, hoping it’ll trump your current tactic of just running away really, really fast… (okay, fine, a moderate jog at best).
You’d hoped to learn how to properly use the knife Silco had gifted you in the market, excitedly bringing it along in the hopes that he’ll show you some cool moves.
But he’d confiscated it the very second you’d taken it out of the box and nearly dropped it on your own foot, blade down.
So… self-defence it is, for now.
Your boyfriend (smoking hot; an utter bitch; an absolute icon) stands opposite you, hands clasped behind his back as he talks.
“Today I will show you some basic movements that will allow you to disengage if an attacker were to grab onto you,” he explains, reminding you of your old geography teacher (who was also your everything-teacher because, you know, Zaun). “Then, depending on how well you-”
Silco continues to tell you his lesson plan in detail, but honestly, you stop listening the second you notice that his shirt sleeves are rolled up. And he’s wearing a different waistcoat. It looks a little older than the usual ones he wears, but it’s still hot. Really accentuates his slutty little waist.
Your cheeks get warm just thinking about it.
Is it hot in here or is it just you?
And gods, isn’t he pretty with his hair a little bit messy, those dark waves just the tiniest bit mussed up. And wouldn’t he look even prettier if you ran your hands through it and maybe put your lips on-
“Are you listening?” Silco cuts in.
Your head snaps up to meet his gaze, positively startled at the interruption.
“Yes, sir,” you blurt out.
He smirks in response which does not help your predicament in the slightest.
“Very well,” he nods, bringing both hands to rest on his hips. “We will begin by learning a disengagement technique that would be useful if somebody were to-”
You swear you’re trying to listen.
Honestly.
But that voice. And the way his lips move when he talks.
And fuck, it’s hot when his throat bobs when he swallows and-
“Are you ready?”
Uh oh, you did it again.
“Huh?” you mutter, dragging your gaze away from his throat.
“I said, are you ready to try the movements I just explained?” Silco asks, raising one eyebrow expectantly.
“Of course I am,” you scoff confidently, despite having not listened to a single word he’s just said. “I’m practically a cage fighter at this point. I could take you down faster than you could say 2-in-1 decarboxylator and herb infuser.”
He doesn’t ask. In fact, he’s stopped asking what the hell you’re talking about when you’re both busy because it more often than not just leads to a twenty minute monologue, which he’s more than happy to listen to as you lie in bed together. But not when you’re about to learn important skills like how to defend yourself in a fight.
“Alright then, show me,” Silco responds, stepping closer to you to do whatever the hell he’s been talking about for the last five minutes.
Suddenly, he reaches out and grabs a handful of your shirt with one hand, scrunching it up right next to your collarbone.
Your body jolts forward slightly with the motion, eyes flicking up to gawp at him in alarm.
But instead of flipping you over his shoulder and breaking your spine (you assume that was the intent), Silco just looks down at you, waiting patiently for you to make your move.
Of course, you have no idea what you’re doing (ever), so you just stand there like a rat in headlights, staring up at him in awe.
“Grab onto your shirt like I told you, darling,” he instructs softly when you still don’t do anything.
“It’s okay, you can have it if you want,” you whisper back in a daze.
“No, grasp the fabric with this hand,” he says, gently guiding your hand to fist the material, right next to where his hand is still holding onto it. “And then grab onto my wrist with your other hand.”
You do and suddenly, you feel like you’re in a sauna.
Why’s he grabbing your shirt like that? And how in the actual fuck can somebody’s wrist be so goddamn hot?
“Now pull your shirt away from me with your hand and push my wrist away with the other,” Silco continues, seemingly unaware of how flustered you are.
Oh, so that’s what he’s trying to get you to do.
You hesitate for a moment, blankly staring at his arm. Only then does Silco notice your reticence, but he must put it down to nerves because the grip on your shirt lessens slightly.
“It’s alright, my love, just try your best,” he tells you soothingly.
You smile up at him, utterly dazzled by his… him-ness.
“Okay.”
You just want to impress him. To make your silly little guy as proud of you as you are of him.
So you try your best…
Which of course means putting way too much power into it.
With absolutely zero warning, you shove him away from you at the same time as you rip your shirt from his grasp, the force causing you to stumble and trip yourself up on your feet. Instinctively, you reach out and grab onto Silco’s waistcoat, pulling him down with you.
He just about manages to catch the back of your head before it smacks against the floor, but can’t save himself from crashing down on top of you.
Your fingers stay latched onto him as he leans up to check on you, hand still cupping the back of your head protectively.
“Are you alright?” he asks frantically, rapidly looking over you for any injuries.
Your brain must have short-circuited because in lieu of answering, you simply gaze up at him in shock.
The fall appears to have knocked some of his hair loose, now hanging down over his forehead in strands, and sweet Janna, this should be a crime.
It’s not fair. How are you supposed to do anything or even think straight with this?
Silco cups your cheek and calls your name, clearly panicked.
“Can you hear me?”
It’s too much for your poor heart, so give you in and press your lips against his in a passionate kiss.
Silco freezes for a split second before letting out a startled, hmpf!
He moves back, breaking the kiss to hold both of your hands against the floor to stop you from leaning up.
“Darling, this is serious! You cannot kiss me in the middle of training,” he huffs, exasperated.
You hope the puppy-dog eyes will earn you your forgiveness.
“But you’re just so cute.”
He sighs, head hanging down low for a brief second before he meets your gaze again.
“Are you injured?”
“No. Are you?”
Silco appears to be relieved, but also a little perplexed.
“I’m fine, darling. How did you lose your balance so easily?” he asks. “It was supposed to be a simple manoeuvre.”
“I uh… I got distracted,” you say bashfully.
Please don’t read my mind. Please don’t read my mind. Please don’t read my mind.
Luckily, he just runs a hand through his hair, trying to put it back in place. He fails spectacularly.
“You cannot get distracted in a fight, you must be vigilant at all times,” he tells you, like he’s trying to be stern.
You take no notice.
“Even if the person I'm fighting is ridiculously hot?”
Silco ignores the question (despite the fact that the tips of his ears are turning the loveliest shade of red) and continues pretending to be strict.
“Let’s try getting out of this hold,” he says. “What do you think would be the best way to escape from this position?”
You don’t even bother looking for a way to escape, still too focused on giving some love to your mans.
Leaning up as far as you can, you deliver a quick kiss to his nose, which, to your absolute delight, only makes him blush even more.
He says your name as a scold.
“What did I just say?”
You toss your head to the side and whine, rumbling your legs a little against the floor like a child.
“Why can’t I just do this if someone attacks me? I feel like it’s kinda working.”
“Do what?” Silco asks with a frown.
“Kiss them.”
And gods, you swear the noise that emanates from his chest is a growl.
“Absolutely not,” he grunts, pressing himself slightly closer to you until you involuntarily squeak.
Silco releases his grip on your hands and climbs off of you, helping you to stand up so he can dust off your trousers.
Over the course of the next hour, he does actually teach you one or two methods to escape someone’s grasp, but perhaps more usefully, he explains that it’s better to focus on prevention of attacks, rather than relying on moves that you’re probably going to forget when filled with adrenaline.
But just knowing that you’ll have both a slew of bodyguards and a little bit of knowledge in self-defence makes you feel a bit more confident, which was probably the only reason you agreed to learn in the first place.
Of course, the impromptu lesson ends when you trip again and nearly break your nose falling into a table, this time when you’re only trying to get a glass of water.
Being led carefully back upstairs by Silco, he exhaustedly suggests that training takes place in his office from now on, to which you ask if you can be wrapped up entirely in bubble wrap in what you would call your Safety Suit.
You get no response, which in your books is not strictly a no, so you make a mental note to add an industrial amount of bubble wrap to the next product order you fill out.
Lacing your fingers with his, you give him the biggest, most affectionate smile as you follow him upstairs to the shower, wondering just how in the hell you got so lucky.
-
It’s only a few weeks later that Jinx gets sick, somehow catching a head cold that thankfully isn’t too concerning, just a bit of a temperature that puts her in bed for a few days.
Although, much like her father, she's incredibly demanding. Which of course only multiplies tenfold the second she starts to feel under the weather, insisting either you or Silco be with her all day every day. So the two of you take shifts, juggling paperwork, meetings, and spending time with Jinx, as well as trying to look after yourselves.
It works for a few days, distracting Jinx when she gets bored or frustrated, coercing her to eat and drink, the three of you even spending time together to discuss her new invention ideas while she’s stuck in bed.
Then, it all goes downhill from there.
You’re on Jinx duty one afternoon, down in the kitchen and in the middle of making her a warm drink when a loud commotion erupts from the bar. Your head pops curiously around the door frame only to be greeted with the sight of utter chaos; a slew of the club’s bouncers and Silco’s usual bodyguards frantically rushing through the club.
For a brief second, you wonder if there’s a security convention happening that you hadn’t been made aware of.
But the moment you spot the Doctor slinking through doors and up the stairs towards Silco’s office, your heart drops in your chest.
He’s supposed to be at a meeting right now with Sevika, across town.
Or will it have finished by now? Would he have had time to walk all the way back to The Drop?
Fuck, what if something happened during the meeting?
Desperately trying to keep the panic at bay, you slip through the crowd and up the stairs, all the while hoping you’ll find your boyfriend in his office as normal, pacing in front of the window like he usually does when there’s been a hitch in the plans.
But when you reach the doors, you find two more burly guards blocking the entrance.
You suck in a breath of air and take measured steps down the corridor until you’re standing in front of them.
“Hey guys, I need to talk to Silco,” you say as calmly as possible, pointing to the door behind them.
“Sorry, can’t let you in,” one of them says, barely even sparing you a glance.
You frown.
“Why? What’s happened?” you ask, trying to hide the wobble in your voice. Then, at the risk of sounding too involved, “Is he okay?”
“There’s been an incident,” the other grunts.
You hold in the urge to scream and respond as courteously as you can given the situation.
“Yes, I gathered that, but it’s really important that I talk to him.”
The guards barely look at you, as if you’re just a fly buzzing in front of them.
“Sorry. Protocol.”
Your fists clench at your sides.
He’s your partner, for Janna’s sake!
For all you know, something terrible could’ve happened and these two chumps are treating you like you’re the maid! As a matter of fact, you’re pretty sure you rank higher than these two in the pecking order anyway.
You put on your meanest face and glare up at them, channelling all your Eye of Zaun energy.
“Look, I don’t give a rat’s arse about protocol, I need to see him right-”
Even just the mention of protocol reminds you of Jinx, who you’d completely forgotten about in all the hubbub.
Your mouth drops open and you spin on your heel mid-sentence, racing down the corridor to her bedroom. Footsteps land heavily on the floor until you’re bursting through into her room the instant your fingers grasp the handle.
Jinx is completely fine, albeit a little startled at your dramatic entrance, sitting up in bed where you’d left her. You almost collapse in relief.
“You were gone for ages!” she complains with a huff, until her eyes land on your empty hands and her face screws up, whining, “Hey, where’s my hot choccy milk?”
You rush to her side, gently soothing back the sweaty hair from her forehead with your hand.
“I’m sorry, pumpkin, I forgot,” you attempt to placate her. “I’ll make one for you in a little bit.”
Her annoyance fades and you just see the worry overtake her expression as she examines you, eerily similar to her father.
“What’s wrong?” she asks.
“Nothing’s wrong, sweetheart.”
She isn’t buying it.
“Yeah there is,” Jinx scowls, even crossing her arms against her chest to show you she really means business. “Don’t lie to me, I’m not a little kid anymore.”
You sigh. What the hell are you meant to tell her? You don’t even know what’s going on.
“There’s just been… a little bit of an incident, but it’s nothing for you to worry about. We’re safe here,” you try to say reassuringly.
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s just trying to sort everything out,” you reply. “I’m sure he won’t be long.”
Gods, you hope that’s the case.
Honestly, you feel awful lying to her, but you have no idea what’s happening yourself. So right now, you both need to stay as calm as possible.
You sit with her for however long, keeping both Jinx and yourself distracted with a game while you internally battle with yourself to stop the worry from overtaking you.
It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like it’s been hours when the door finally opens and Sevika enters, automatically throwing a grimace towards Jinx.
Of course, Jinx isn’t Sevika’s greatest friend on the best of days, but now that she’s sick, it’s entirely worse. She throws the covers over her head and groans in retaliation.
“Boss wants to see you,” Sevika announces, looking directly at you, thankfully ignoring Jinx’s outburst.
Hope flutters in your chest for a split second. If he wants to see you, that means he’s awake and more than likely talking.
But you can’t really ask the six million questions that are running through your brain with Jinx here listening. And you also can’t really leave her with Sevika, unless you want the entire room to be destroyed.
“Can you fetch Ran for me?” you ask, begging the woman with your eyes whilst keeping your tone neutral. “I can’t leave Jinx on her own.”
Sevika sneers, clearly annoyed.
Then, you watch as she considers Jinx (still hiding under the covers), and probably considers being the one to watch over her for the foreseeable.
Without another word, she promptly turns on her heel and walks out the room.
The whole time you’re waiting for her return, Jinx pesters you to let her see her Dad, but you make her promise that she’ll stay in bed until he gives the okay.
Luckily, Sevika is back within minutes, Ran in tow, who silently reclines in the furthest chair from her bed. You explain to Jinx that you’ll be back soon, and encourage her to tell Ran about all her new invention ideas.
And the very moment you’ve shut the door to her bedroom, Sevika pauses outside, presumably to update you on the situation.
But your anxiety immediately gets the better of you and you sprint down the hall like a madman, too nervous to even wait a few seconds.
Vaguely, you hear Sevika mutter, “Don’t know why I fucking bother,” as you speed away, but you’ll have to apologise to her later.
You need to see him now.
When you arrive at Silco’s office, the guards move to the side in preparation, although they do manage to look the tiniest bit alarmed when you burst through the doors yelling, “I just really love paperwork!” and kick the door shut behind you.
Hopefully that’ll quench any suspicions they might have.
Silco is clearly not in his office, so the next port of call is his bedroom, of which you slam the door open and tumble into the room, hanging onto the door knob for dear life when the motion threatens to send you sprawling across the floor.
From his bed where he’s laid out, Silco’s eyes widen in bewilderment, jolting back against the pillows his head is propped up on.
Your fingers grip the door handle while your eyes fill with tears, gasping at the sight of him.
It’s hard not to miss the stained bandage around his thigh, missing waistcoat, and filthy, rumpled clothes. And the fact that he’s much paler than usual.
You feel sick.
“Sil…”
“I’m fine, darling,” he attempts to mollify you, shifting about as he tries to sit up.
“No, no, don’t move,” you choke out.
You rush over to him, uncaring of the way your knees crack against the ground when you heavily drop beside his bed.
“What-” you swallow the knot in your throat, shakily willing the tears away. “What happened?”
A hand reaches out to comfort him, but you hesitate, hovering above his arm.
The last thing you want to do is accidentally hurt him.
Silco grasps your hand with his, firmly intertwining your fingers together. But you beat him to it, bringing his hand to your mouth to gently kiss his knuckles.
“An individual attacked us on our way back to the club,” he explains, two-toned eyes focused on where your mouth rests on the skin of his hand.
You look up at him, brow furrowed.
“An individual? Did you see what they looked like?”
“No, they were masked and escaped before Sevika or I could apprehend them,” he replies, voice clearly tired and groggy.
You want to ask why the hell they were alone without any guards, but you know he’ll just get huffy about it. Something about being able to look after himself.
Your hand runs over your face as you sigh.
“Do you think it was one of the gangs?”
That’d be the most obvious set of culprits.
“It could be, or it could be a lone fanatic who disagrees with my policies,” Silco replies. “We will conduct a thorough investigation and in the meantime security measures will be tripled, you and Jinx included.”
“What did the Doctor say?”
“The usual,” he says, avoiding eye contact as his gaze trails to your clasped hands once more. If there’s one thing that Silco hates, it’s talking about his own health and wellbeing. “The Shimmer injections should speed things along.”
He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before cutting in with a question of his own.
“How is Jinx?”
“She’s fine, worried about you,” you tell him, squeezing his hand in comfort.
Suddenly, your eyes meet his, filling with tears once more as your mind begins to spiral.
What if-
You cut off that train of thought immediately, letting go of his hand and leaning forward to lightly rest your forehead against his side.
“Oh, Sil,” you mumble shakily into the creased fabric of his shirt.
“Come here, darling,” he says, gently pushing you to sit back up.
You look up to see him patting the space beside him, the side you usually sleep on.
“But I don’t want to hurt you,” you protest weakly.
“You won’t,” he says with resolve.
You only hesitate for a moment longer before standing up and making your way around the bed, gingerly climbing onto your side.
Silco quickly reaches for you and pulls you over to him, laying your head against his chest and wrapping his arms around you. You’re careful not to lean on him too heavily.
And gods dammit, as you lie there cocooned in his arms, those tears slowly and silently leak out against your will, soaking into his burgundy shirt.
“I was so worried,” you begin, hoping he can’t detect the wobble in your voice. “I… I thought…”
“Shh, my love,” he hums into your hair. “I’m here now.”
You allow yourself to relax in his presence, beyond thankful that he’s here and he’s alive, even if he’s injured.
You’ll take care of him every single day until he’s better. And even after that too. For as long as he wants you.
But as much as you want to stay in his arms right now, reassuring yourself with each inhale and exhale of breath that levers your head on his chest, you have to get up.
“Where are you going?” Silco protests when his arms slip away from you.
“I need to check on Jinx,” you explain, reluctantly climbing off the bed with a sniff. “Plus, it might look a bit suspicious if I spend too long in here. Might start a few rumours.”
Silco frowns when you stand at the foot of the bed and straighten your clothes, scrubbing a hand over your face to wipe away the tears.
“Bring Jinx here, then you can stay as long as you like,” he says, almost with a pout.
You try not to smile at the way he sounds like a little boy trying to get out of bedtime
“She’s still in bed,” you explain. “Plus, she’ll get upset if she sees that you’re hurt. I’ll send Sevika back in to watch over you.”
Silco doesn’t look convinced, so you wander over to his side again.
“Don’t worry, I’ll come back later,” you say, kissing his forehead tenderly.
He catches your hand before you can leave, smirking a little.
“Why can’t you tell everyone you’re my nurse?” he asks, that mischief still lurking despite the exhaustion. “Then you could spend the night here, no questions asked.”
You tug your hand out of his grasp, glaring down at him in faux annoyance.
“If you weren’t already injured, I would actually smack you right now,” you threaten.
“Sounds lovely,” he grins, reaching for your hand until you dance out of his reach with a yelp.
You begin to walk towards the door.
“Stay in bed, you menace. And don’t do anything I would do!” you call out over your shoulder as you leave, exiting the room before you do anything stupid (like offering to give him a sponge bath just because you want to take his shirt off).
And as you go, you pray to Janna that this period of recovery with Silco’s injury is not going to be a trial. The last thing you need right now is any more stress.
-
The period of recovery is a trial.
But did you honestly expect anything less with Silco as your patient?
Luckily, his leg begins to heal fairly quickly, no doubt thanks to the Shimmer injections. But it still takes a bit of time until he can get back to work as normal.
After checking up on Jinx, you find out from Sevika that the Doctor had actually ordered bed rest until he gives the okay. Which is a relief at first because it means that you can bully Silco into properly resting for once in his life.
Except, that means you have to take over the brunt of the meetings and paperwork.
Between the worry about both Jinx and Silco’s recoveries, and having to carry most of the business, you think you’re losing your mind.
You continue to take care of Jinx, as well as Silco, who are both the whiniest, most demanding two people you’ve ever met when they’re sick.
Jinx hates that she can’t visit Silco in case she gives him an infection and bugs you constantly about going to see him. And Silco borderline whines every time you stop him from getting out of bed to ‘just smoke one cigar and fill in one shipping manifest at his desk’.
Yeah, no.
More often than not, you’re running between the two of them, perpetually washing your hands and making sure your mask is secure on your face.
Sometimes you’ll briefly stop on the way to inhale a snack. Sometimes you’ll shove your face under the sink taps and get both a drink and a wash at the same time. Other times you try not to scream into the nearest pillow or cushion in fear of accidentally losing your voice.
This time, you’ve just finished putting Jinx to bed (a battle far more ferocious than probably any battle in history, ever), and you’re now on your way to check on Silco, ready for his new evening routine.
Check stitches. Clean wound. Re-bandage. Give medicine. Give food. Check he’s actually taken medicine. Give drink. Find a new book for him to read because he’s bored, darling.
But instead of finding him laying in bed, plucking his comb like it’s a musical instrument, he’s standing up (barely) and clutching to the dresser.
You watch incredulously as he attempts to tug his trousers over his injured leg, sweating, pale, and clearly out of breath.
“Are you serious right now?”
He looks up, lips pulling into the tiniest smile at the sight of you.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he greets warmly, before going back to the task at hand.
You think your head is going to explode.
“What are you doing?” you ask dumbly.
The tray of his food and meds are placed on the bedside table, while Silco continues to wrestle with his trousers. Frankly, he looks ridiculous, pyjama top still on, trousers halfway up one leg as the other gets stuck on his ankle over and over again.
“I have a meeting,” he informs you, as if that’s an explanation.
You look up to the ceiling like you’ll find a piece of your sanity on it. There’s definitely no meetings scheduled in the diary.
Dear gods, if he’s got a fever now and is hallucinating, you think you might just evaporate.
“What meeting?”
Silco decides not to give you any details and instead just calmly states,
“It is very important. I must attend.”
Then, he carries on trying to get dressed like he wasn’t stabbed in the leg only a week earlier.
You can almost visualise the stress levels rising in your body; the jug about to overflow and spill out of you.
What you should probably do right now is carefully help him back into bed and fetch Sevika so you can all decide on the best solution to this dilemma.
But you’re human, so you let your emotions get the better of you instead.
“No.”
Silco has the gall to look surprised.
“I beg your pardon?” he asks, genuinely shocked at your directness.
“I said no, now get back in bed,” you say, moving over to him to help him take off those stupid trousers and put his pyjamas back on.
He must not understand how serious you are right now because he continues to gently protest.
“Darling, I appreciate-”
“Silco,” you cut him off, tears filling your eyes as you arrive in front of him, looking him dead in the eye. Your voice is shockingly quiet and precise. “I need you to get back in bed or I think I am actually, seriously going to lose it.”
He looks startled, shuffling forward to comfort you.
“Sweetheart-”
“Please, Silco,” you cut him off, your voice cracking with the words.
Silco appraises you for a moment, watching your tense body and distraught face.
Finally, he speaks.
“Alright,” he concedes quietly, mismatched eyes full of concern.
He manages to step out of his trousers and you help him hobble back over to the bed, pulling up the covers so he can get under the sheets.
And once he’s comfortably sat up against the headboard, he opens his mouth to speak again, eyes watching you carefully the whole time.
You don’t let him.
You lean forward, kiss his cheek, and then step away.
“Please eat this,” you say, nodding to the tray on his bedside table. “I’m going to check on Jinx and then I will be back to change your bandage.”
Your footsteps out the room are measured and by the time he calls your name, asking you to wait, you’re already out the door. But you can’t stop walking because if you do, you’ll burst into tears…
Which is exactly what happens after you check on Jinx.
You’re just on your way back to Silco’s bedroom when one of the employees stops you in the corridor to say that a warehouse has been raided, meaning a bunch of stock has been stolen.
You politely thank her for letting you know, ask her to inform Sevika, take a sharp turn into your bedroom, and break down sobbing.
Truthfully, you’re not sure how long you spend kneeling on the floor next to your bed, face down as you cry into the sheets.
But it must be long enough because the door opens and a set of limping footsteps shuffle towards you.
He sits down on the bed and gently - soothingly - runs his fingers through your hair.
There’s a sharp intake of breath between each word, but you somehow manage to heave out, “You… should… be… in… bed,” sobbing the last word until it’s completely unintelligible.
“I know, my love, I know,” Silco consoles you.
He delicately encourages you to get up and get into bed, following you under the covers despite there barely being enough room for the both of you.
Once he’s reassured you that you’re not hurting his leg, you let him hold you in his arms, rubbing your back until you stop crying.
You have a killer headache. And a big part of you feels bad for letting him comfort you when it should be the other way round.
“Do you know why I gave you this bedroom when I first asked you to work and live here?” he eventually mumbles into your hair.
You sniffle. “No, why?”
“It’s the only one with a single bed.”
Slowly, you pull back to look at him in disbelief.
“What?”
“I wanted to make sure you didn’t invite anyone over,” he explains nonchalantly, like any sane person would invite you to live with them and give you the tiniest bed ever, just because he was jealous of even the thought of you having a partner.
You huff a laugh and his lips quirk into a smile in response.
“There was never anyone to invite over,” you say. “Plus, it doesn’t really make sense to invite someone over when they already live with you.”
Silco watches you affectionately. He cups your cheeks and leans forward to capture your lips in the slowest, most tender kiss.
Your eyes flutter closed and you whisper against him, “You’re injured.”
“My lips are perfectly fine,” he mumbles back.
You gently whack him on the arm.
“Silly boy.”
He smirks (the one that still gives you butterflies) and steals another kiss before cuddling up to you again.
“Thank you for looking after everything for me,” he says over your shoulder. “In truth, I am not quite sure what I would do without you.”
“I don’t know how you do it all, I feel like one of those stretchy dolls being pulled in every direction until they snap,” you snort, scrubbing a hand over your face.
“You’re doing wonderfully, my sweetheart. I am continually astounded by your unwavering strength and compassion,” Silco tells you.
Then, he blows an amused breath of air out of his nose, like he can’t quite believe whatever he’s thinking. “It’s no wonder I-”
He pauses, whole body suddenly tense in your arms.
You wait patiently for him to continue, squeezing him a little bit tighter in reassurance.
“Hmm?”
Silco eventually lets out a shaky exhale, simultaneously relaxing into your touch, almost like he’s melting into your warmth.
“I know that you will be just fine. We will be just fine,” he says.
You hum again, feeling yourself drifting off to sleep with each looping circle traced on your skin.
Deep down, you know you’ll have to go fetch him some water and his first aid supplies when you wake. You’ll sit in your armchair beside your own bed until he wakes up from some much needed rest.
But he’s worth it. He’s worth the crick in your neck, and the reduced hours of sleep, and the overwhelming stress.
He’s worth it all.
Because you love him.
-
a/n: did anyone else play the folded paper drawing game or was it just me??
edit: i just googled it and the game is called Exquisite Corpse 😭
edit edit: so i’m currently trying to plot out the rest of this story so there’ll hopefully be fewer breaks between chapters (it was only meant to be a one-shot lmao), wish me luck my lieges 🙏 if you’re still reading this daft story after all this time, ily. if you’re new, welcome ily
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