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It was a normal night, like any other. It was his night to cook, Kenzi's night to mooch a free meal (which was every night she didn't bring over takeout), and the only strange thing was that Bruce was attempting a vegetable curry. Kenzi, of course, complained about "the lack of cow," as she put it, and then complained some more when he said it wasn't going to be all that spicy. She did it, of course, in the usual manner: theatrical groaning, long diatribes about her friend Trick back home and his usual spread on La Shoshain, and plenty of gesturing with her big spoon when he had her mixing a sauce while he chopped some squash.
By the time they were done eating and talking, it was late...well after two in the morning. For the last two weeks, there had been a pillow and blanket living on his sofa for her for the handful of nights he had been too tired to help her get home. Once he caught sight of Allison Argent coming home late from work, meekly admitting she'd been mugged, he'd flat out refused to let Kenzi head back to Chelsea Cloisters on her own.
He was exhausted, and the couch waited for her, just as his own bed waited for him...right after they cleaned up the debris left over from dinner.
"Kenz, can you pass me the--"
Bruce was putting away the dishes he'd washed, crouched in front of the base cabinet next to the sink, with his fingers curled around the frame when she slammed the cabinet door shut with her foot.
The force was just the wrong kind of shock: pain exploded through his hand, and he lost his grip on his vitals. A sharp cry of pain rang out as he drew his hand to his chest, dropping flat on his knees as he doubled over.
Adrenaline surged, his heart rate skyrocketed...and he couldn't stop it.
For an agonizing eternity, he knelt there, waiting for him to come screaming through his marrow, exploding out of every cell. He braced for the fight, readied himself to warn Kenzi to run.
It never came.
Nearly five minutes passed before he finally started to relax, uncurling and lifting his head as his body stayed quiet...calmed down, heart rate normalizing, adrenaline fading as he tried to catch his breath.
Lifting his head, he sought out Kenzi's gaze.
He wasn't turning. His hand didn't even hurt that much, now that the initial sting had worn off.
"I don't understand..."
By the time they were done eating and talking, it was late...well after two in the morning. For the last two weeks, there had been a pillow and blanket living on his sofa for her for the handful of nights he had been too tired to help her get home. Once he caught sight of Allison Argent coming home late from work, meekly admitting she'd been mugged, he'd flat out refused to let Kenzi head back to Chelsea Cloisters on her own.
He was exhausted, and the couch waited for her, just as his own bed waited for him...right after they cleaned up the debris left over from dinner.
"Kenz, can you pass me the--"
Bruce was putting away the dishes he'd washed, crouched in front of the base cabinet next to the sink, with his fingers curled around the frame when she slammed the cabinet door shut with her foot.
The force was just the wrong kind of shock: pain exploded through his hand, and he lost his grip on his vitals. A sharp cry of pain rang out as he drew his hand to his chest, dropping flat on his knees as he doubled over.
Adrenaline surged, his heart rate skyrocketed...and he couldn't stop it.
For an agonizing eternity, he knelt there, waiting for him to come screaming through his marrow, exploding out of every cell. He braced for the fight, readied himself to warn Kenzi to run.
It never came.
Nearly five minutes passed before he finally started to relax, uncurling and lifting his head as his body stayed quiet...calmed down, heart rate normalizing, adrenaline fading as he tried to catch his breath.
Lifting his head, he sought out Kenzi's gaze.
He wasn't turning. His hand didn't even hurt that much, now that the initial sting had worn off.
"I don't understand..."
