The Assassin Bureau: Imagines and Preferences

Forgiven: Ratohnhaké:ton x Reader

You were furious with him. Enraged, really. He'd gone off on his own to hunt Charles Lee after you told him clearly not to. You could have helped. You could have offered him some form of assistance. But he was stubborn. You didn't even realize what he was planning until it was after the fact.

He showed up at your door with blood pooling across his chest, drenching his clothes and skin. He had shaved the sides of his head and smeared war paint across his cheeks. He was half delirious when you opened the door for him, breathing heavily and whimpering when he could no longer handle the pain.

You tended to the wounds with ale and scalding metal, burning the deep gash until it melted closed. You dealt with his mindless anger that arose during bouts of fever, a half crazed amount of growling and muttering. You cleaned away the blood and the smudged paint. You spent every waking moment with him. When you thought he was well enough to be alone, you fetched a doctor but they only performed the same tasks that you had already done yourself.

It was over a week before he showed signs of healing. He responded silently to questions and drank what you offered without needing assistance. But as responsive as he was, he had little energy to talk or stay awake. He slept for the most part and it was those long moments of quiet that bothered you the most.

You were stitching together his waistcoat and jacket, fixing the tears from whatever battles he'd arrogantly dealt with on his own. You rolled your eyes up at him, an afterthought really, but there he was peacefully watching you. You tossed the clothes aside and hurried over to the bed, grabbing the cup of water from the nightstand.

His words were deep, raspy but he sounded as if nothing had really happened to him, "Thank you."

You pressed the water to his lips, forced him to take a few good swallows before setting it down again. "Rest." You turned to leave, not yet ready to speak with him.

Connor reached out and grabbed hold of your hand, tugging at it for you to stay. "I am sorry. I did not mean to cause you to worry."

Your brows pinched as you faced him. "You didn't mean to make me worry?" You hadn't realized how bitter you were until you spoke and he must have not realized it either. "Well you did."

"You are angry?" He tried to sit up but it was obviously painful for him.

"Angry?" You leaned forward and shoved his shoulder back into the bed. "I'm furious! Enraged! You could have asked for my help!"

"It was my battle--"

"No!" You jerked your hand away from his. "It is all of ours. You are not the only Assassin. We are all in the same war together."

"Forgive me." His features distorted with sorrow and a deep rooted grief. "I was caught in my own vengeance that I did not care to ask you about how you were feeling." He reached out for your hand again, cautiously taking hold of it.

You clenched your teeth. You were still irritated. You had every right to be upset with him. You thought he would die. You agonizingly watched him during the worst of his fever. "You need to get some sleep. You're still hurt."

His large hand encased around yours and squeezed. "Stay with me. I do not want to be alone." He rolled his eyes shut, a twinge of pain striking across his expression. "I am tired of shouldering all of these things alone."

You released a slow breath and perched yourself on the side of the bed. "You chose to be alone. I could've helped you had you asked me."

He gave a few meager nods before opening his eyes, dark and deep pools of redwood and russet earth. They were eyes of longing, a desire to be cared for and loved, and warm as a hearth's fire. "I did not wish this pain upon you. I wanted only to save you from getting hurt."