May 27th, 1894 - Whitby & Co Printers

Sage was sort of exhausted. Sage was not allowed to show too much just how exhausted she was, because she lived with a bunch of worrywarts and as much as she loved them; that was also exhausting. She'd just been busy. Busy was good for her, it kept her skills sharp and her mind occupied, all of which meant she wasn't drifting into one of those melancholy moods that sometimes lasted for a few weeks. If she was too tired to think, she was too tired to dwell on the past and therefore couldn't be sad about it.

At the conclusion of her shift, which lasted a few hours longer than it was supposed to, Sage traipsed back to the printshop to make her way upstairs to her bed, perhaps without even eating. Eating was not quite as necessary as sleep right now. Her mattress was calling her name in a soft sort of lullaby only she could hear. It was a siren song that she was happy to follow.

Of course as soon as she stepped through the door, a yelp and an oath hit her ears in a voice she could recognize in the dark. "How many times do I have to tell you not to stick your fingers in there?" Sage sighed, chastising Declan lightly without really know what it was that had him making such noises. Good thing she brought her bag home with her today. "Let me see." She held out her hand and waggled her fingers to get him to show him whatever it was he'd injured this time.

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Declan Buchanan

  

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Declan waved his wand to crank the cylinder on the press for a book job, and went to adjust the lettering — only to get his finger caught on the feed board. He yelped, swore, and waved his wand to shut the thing back down — looking up to find Miss Sage scolding him.

Deck shrugged at her, sheepish. He held his hand up — his index finger was rapidly turning purple. "Might be broken," he said, apologetic. It wasn't the first time that Sage rescued him, and wouldn't be the last — she'd patched up black eyes and bruised knuckles, too. A broken finger was pretty embarrassing, though, given how much time he spent with the press — and he needed to get this penny dreadful published by tomorrow.

  

"Declan," Sage hissed out, anticipating a slice of some kind, not a broken digit that clearly was fractured in more than one place. "Merlin's beard, you are the best practice I could ever ask for and I hate it." For all she was good at her job, Sage loathed seeing people in pain, especially people she loved. It was part of why she had become so focused on her work; at least there she could make people feel better, even if she could not do so for herself.

Grabbing him gently by the wrist, she pulled him to the closest chair and pushed him into it. "Take this," she said upon immediately summoning a pain potion from within her bag. "I'm going to have to straighten it back out and it's going to hurt." He was probably used to it, considering this was not the first time she'd fixed something he had broken; and that fact that he made his extra money through boxing, but she always felt the need to preface it. The potion took a moment to kick in however. "Let me know when you can't feel it anymore." She advised as she bent over her bag to find a splint and bandages. "One of these days I'm not going to be able to straighten it out you know." Sage warned lightly, unable to hold in the more serious chastisement.

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Declan downed the pain potion in one swallow. He was pliant for her before it even kicked in, already ready for Sage to do whatever she needed to with his hand. "I know," he replied. One day he was going to have the same crooked fingers as some of the men he boxed with. If it weren't for Sage, that would have happened to Declan ages ago.

He gave his hand a small shake. "Pain potion's kicked in," he said. He smiled at her, wide even though it was soft — it was easier to pull off now that his hand was numb.

  

She really had seem him bruised and bloodied up a few too many times for her liking, but he wouldn't give up the boxing and so all she really could do was keep patching him up to the best of her ability. Declan had been her first set of stitches, her first broken nose; she's worried about his orbital bones and his teeth and his knuckles and his wrists. She really wished he would quit, but wasn't going to badger him about it. Instead she would do her silent worrying and fixing up and nag at him in different ways; he knew what she meant without her having to say it.

He said the potion kicked in, but she waited another moment anyway. She knew how long it was supposed to take, given his size and the dose; it wasn't there yet. Sage busied herself with measuring out a splint and a some muslin to wrap it with once she was done. Gently she prodded the busted digit with her own small hands, feeling along the bones and thanking Merlin it seemed like a clean break between the bottom two knuckles. "I need to straighten it out, ready?" She asked, but was already doing it as soon as the words left her lips, grimacing appropriately as she felt the bones align themselves once more.

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He should have known not to rush her; she knew when the pain potion would kick in for him, and Declan watched her get ready until she came over.

Deck let out a slow hiss of air when Sage straightened his finger, gritting his teeth. Even with the pain potion, he still felt it. ''That never gets easier,'' he admitted. Maybe he should break his bones less often, then — but that didn't seem likely to happen anytime soon.

  

Even Sage grimaced as he exhaled, holding her own breath and his fingers together while she reached for the splint and muslin to wrap it. "It sure does not." She sighed. Lecturing him would do no good, he would keep up the boxing and the press would always bite, it seemed inevitable.

"Should only take a couple of days with this." She held aloft a second potion for him to take and tied off the splint that would hold his two fingers together to keep them immobilized while the bones reset. The potion would help speed up the process and make sure nothing splintered. Magic was truly a wonderful thing, otherwise he would have loss the use of some of his digits quite some time ago.

Before she moved to put her things away, she landed a loud smack of a kiss on his cheek. "Don't do it again." She teased, knowing that was impossible.

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Declan flushed pink when Sage kissed his cheek; it wasn't the first time she'd done so, but he wasn't sure he would ever get used to it. He pushed his (unsplinted, uninjured) hand through his hair and smiled sheepishly at her. "Thanks," he said, because they both knew that he would definitely do it again.

If he only needed the splint for a few days, and today was Monday, then —

"Can I fight this weekend?" he asked. She wouldn't like it, but Declan was sure she'd give him an honest answer.

  

"Will you listen if I say no?" She sighed, which was the better option between that and rolling her eyes. He sounded too eager. It would be mostly healed by the weekend and he would probably be fine but— "Only if you let me wrap it beforehand and you let me see straight after." She couldn't go watch, could not stand to watch him take hits or bleed onto the mat. She could clean him up after though. Sage knew she had no room to ask him not to, or tell him he couldn't, so all she could do was make sure whatever injuries he incurred were taken care of properly as soon as possible afterward. It was a strange friendship, theirs, but she wouldn't change it.

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Deck controlled his expression carefully; if she said no, he probably would still fight, he would just feel guilty about it. So he was relieved that she sighed at him and conceded. "I can do that," Declan said, tone a smidge over-eager. "Promise, I'll come over here right after." (Or something approximating right after.)

  

"I'm going to hold you to that." He was reliable in that respect anyway; and if he didn't she would give him hell for it when she had to inevitably clean him up anyway. Why he would ever mar that handsome face with bruises and cuts all of the time, she would never know, but she couldn't tell him how to live his life or make his money. "Can't have scars all over that handsome face or lose the use of that hand." She wasn't a miracle worker and while magic helped keep things under wraps, eventually something would give.

"Hungry?" She asked, but had packed up her carpet bag and was halfway toward the back of the shop where there was a set of stairs that led up to the Whitby flat, assuming he would follow if he was.

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