Needles and Pins

Despite killing and eating plenty of people, Lochlann did not usually feel like some kind of serial killer

Tonight, bundled up in his jacket with the hood up and his arms not only crossed, but tucked inside his coat pockets, made Lochlann feel super freaking creepy.

But he was desperate, and desperate times called for desperate measures.

His dark hair was skewed and there were bags beneath his eyes. His skin, normally that special shade of pale called Irish, looked unwell. The collar of his shirt was popped up.

Lochlann was many different kinds of failure, which sometimes worked out to his advantage, because people forgot he could be good at something. And Lochlann was good at getting information. he was good at asking the right sorts of questions, of giving the right kinds of smiles, placing his hand on someone else's (well, not tonight), and leaving the right kind of thank yous. Never notes that would link him, but little, small, perishable momentos that created a feeling that lasted longer than the object.

That's how Lochlann found out that He Who Must not be Spoken Of, the terrible man in the lab coat, had a resident.

Lochlann didn't really understand what that meant, but he understood enough to know that he could see Dr. Hart's resident instead of Dr. Hart, which meant Lochlann didn't have to go to the hospital.

The problem was that she was at as many locations Hart was at, and Lochlann couldn't figure out which one, and he would avoid two out of the three locations at all cost. So it was less painful to just wait at her place.

He saw a woman in.....what the hell was on her shirt?

Lochlann hated unicorns with a burning, simmering passion that could only come from also being another horse. And her shirt looked like unicorns had thrown up all over it.

God, leave it to Dr. Hart to have a woman as evil as he was as his resident.

"Are you Dr. Park Bennett?" Lochlann asked when she bent over to pick up her mail. He kept his distance so as not to freak her out, but considering he just came out of no where, he didn't expect her to listen.

Lochlann was scared that she was going to fall, so he instinctively took a step closer. The last thing he wanted was for someone to hurt themselves, but when she planted her feet, she stepped back.

Nurse. That was like...a mini-doctor, right?

Lochlann studied her while she talked and studied him. He was making a snap judgement. Could he trust her? Did he have a choice?

If he got over the fact that those were unicorns, her outfit was kind of endearing. It reminded him a little bit of Cabel.

She side stepped closer to her door and Lochlann felt his last chance start to slip away, but then she asked what she could help him with.

When she frowned and blurted out what are you wearing, Lochlann decided he liked her. Despite the unicorns.

"I can't stop the bleeding," he said. He was straight to the point, but when she called him out on it, he said, "I'm actually trying not to give anyone a heart attack. I look like a zombie and I can assure you I'm not undead."

Then, because he was a little bit indignant, Lochlann asked, "What are YOU wearing?"

Lochlann thought she was going to turn away, but instead, she came down the stairs and asked him a lot of questions all at once.

Okay, it wasn't that it was a lot of questions, it was that Lochlann was quite frankly exhaused and everything seemed overwhelming.

"I do not want to go to the hospital under any circumstances," Lochlann said, and he was ashamed that he couldn't keep the high note of panick from creeping into his voice. His voice broke when he said, "Please."

She undid his coat and Lochlann was surprised and flustered all at once.

"Wait," he started, but it was too late. With the coat pulled back, the front of Lochlann's shirt was drenched in blood. There was a cut on his neck along the collar of his shirt that he'd clearly tried to treat himself; there was a gauze pad taped onto it, but the edges of the tape were frayed and stuck up with dried blood.

"Okay," Lochlann said "You're right, it is cute. It's colorful."

The words made no sense.

Lochlann suddenly wondered how the hell she worked with Aiden.

He liked her questions. Direct. Now why or what or how but where.

"Neck, chest, hand," he said.

Now that he said it, Lochlann was even more tired.

"I can't, I mean, the bleeding," Lochlann said. This wasn't the first time this had happened to him. This time, he knew he needed help.

Everything was a blur to Lochlann.

At this point, now that she'd seen the blood, whatever semblance of normality Lochlann had been clinging to was slowly slipping through his fingers. When she said need to go to the hospital Lochlann jerked as though he'd been shot, but before he could protest, his arm was over her shoulder and she was taking him inside.

Lochlann wanted help but he wasn't sure if he wanted like this. He didn't exactly feel delirious, but then again, did he even know what feeling delirious felt like?

She led him through a room of chaos and color and Lochlann's eyes swam trying to focus on the sight, but then they were moving, so quickly, and he wanted to stop for a moment but-—

Bath tub.

he was in the bath tub before he knew how he got there.

'Ah--" he started, wanting to protest, but when he tried to pull himself up and out of the tub, his hand left a red streak across the side of the tub. He realized he was going to have trouble pulling himself up, and he was about to panic when she was back, starting to cut away the bottom of her shirt.

When Lochlann pictured asking for help, he pictured taking off his shirt, explaining in a calm and rational manner why he couldn't go to the hospital, and asking what he could do to make this bleeding stop.

Now that it was actually happening he felt like he was drowning.

"Lochlann," he said.

He took a deep breath.

"Listen," he said, and he took another deep breath, because air seemed like a precious commodity. "I cannot go to the hospital. I just need your help to stop this bleeding. I will pay you. But I cannot go there. Can you...can you tell me what to do?"

Lochlann was not good at sitting in a bath tub, bleeding, while a cute woman with scissors cut his shirt off.

When she gave the reasoning for Lochlann being in the tub, he nodded, and went still.

Lochlann did well with more information. The more someone told him why something was happening, the more calm he could be. Well, when he was sober, and not in a hospital, and usually with less blood.

But sterile he could comprehend. His reactions were still closer to a wild animal--jerky, misaligned movements and his eyes barely left her as she moved about.

Lochlann had not so much been stabbed as he'd been carved.

New cuts had been placed with furious precision over old scar tissue. The cuts and angle over the throat and heart could have been self-inducted, but the several cuts over the back of his hand were deep, and they betrayed a steadiness of the hand that Lochlann didn't possess on the best of days. They were deep and bleeding and had been so for quite a while.

She didn't want blood on the couch. Lochlann nodded. That made sense. He took a deep breath, but now, exposed like this, it hurt. His hands shook and he rubbed his hair out of his face, smearing blood across his cheek in the process.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I will gladly do your unicorns for you."

The words came out in a slur and he shook his head, pushing his hair right back into his face, and Lochlann went to push his hair back out, smearing more blood. She was so bright, so colorful, that she was hard to look at.

"I will wash your unicorns for you," he said.

He didn't realize it didn't make that much sense.

Stitches. Lochlann nodded. He gave a dry, hollow laugh, which he immediately regretted because it made the tender skin on his throat ache and ooze even more.

"I tried that once," he said.

When she said hospital, his eyes went wide and his hand went to the side of the tub, but he'd remembered what she said and he stopped himself, going still.

"That's okay," Lochlann said. He assumed local numbing agent was one of those small, disposable wipes they cleaned things with. And stitches was like sewing. It was going to hurt like a bitch, but it already hurt, and Lochlann didn't think it could get much worse at this point.

"No hospitals," he said.

For some reason, he did not immediately comprehend that the stitches would stop the bleeding.

He took a deep breath and just repeated, "No hospitals. Please."