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She doesn’t notice at first. Not during the whole car ride too happy that he’s in her arms. That she’s in his. It doesn’t matter that her mother is in the front seat. That Stiles sneaks glances at them. It’s not until he disappears upstairs and he’s gone for longer than a bathroom break.
Then she goes upstairs to ask if he’s ok and he’s so clearly not. Not with the bleeding wound in the middle of his chest. He must hear her gasp or elevated heartbeat or the panic that overwhelms her because the first thing he does is reassure her.
“I’m fine.” He lies.
“You’re hurt.”
“It’s healing.”
“You’re hurt.” She says and it’s no time at all before she’s standing in front of him, the smell of blood overwhelming, “when did you get hurt? How long have you been hurt?”
“It’s not as bad as it looks?” he tries again.
Kira has to calm herself. This close she can her the quick pat-pat-pat of his heart. This close underneath the iron tang of blood is stress and slight panic and guilt? She takes a calming breath: inhale fore eight; hold one; exhale for eight; hold one.
“Sit down.”
“Kira it’s--”
“Sit down Scott.” She says more forcefully and thankfully this time he listens and takes a seat on the closed toilet while she runs warm water over a white hand towel.
Scott keeps his head down, watching her hands, while she dabs lightly and steadily at the wound until the towel is stained red from his blood. She takes her time applying the gauze and making sure everything is properly covered. Then she places her hand on his chest and lets the pain seep into and blacken her veins.
“Kira.” He looks up at her a mixture of surprise and worry.
“I learned a few new things.” She says gently and tries her hardest not to show any signs of pain even though her arm is stiff with it.
“You don’t have to…” he says and trails off.
“I know. But I’m going to anyway.” She says.
Kira helps him to his feet and they make it to his bed where she helps him out of his jeans and into the Captain America sleep pants she’d gotten him for his birthday. She waits until they comfortably under the covers. Usually she would curl into him while he wrapped his arms around her but tonight is different. Tonight she lays his head on her stomach (making sure he doesn’t sleep on the bandaged wound in his chest) and cards her hands through his hair.
Then she asks, “Who did that to you?”
He’s quiet for a long time. His emotions fluctuate too much for her to grasp firmly onto one for very long. She’s about to ask again when he speaks.
“It was Liam. The first time.”
“The first time?” she doesn’t mean to interrupt but it’s hard to believe. Liam is so devoted to Scott and Scott is always trying to protect him. But then again she thinks back to when Liam and Mason showed up. The distance they kept between them and it starts to make sense.
“It was the super moon and Hayden had just died and Theo manipulated him and he…he was so angry. I thought I could let him take his anger out on me but….Mason had to stop him.” Scott says and stops speaking again for a little bit.
“And then Theo showed up.” He continues then stops again. His arms tighten around her waist as he tells her, “He killed me. I was gone. 15 whole minutes.”
This time when he stops speaking it’s because he’s crying. She feels the tears make a wet pack on her stomach. She tastes the salt in the air. She scrambles to lift him up so that he can cry into her shoulder instead. So that she can hold him tightly and run her hands through his hair.
“It’s ok. You’re ok now.” She whispers in his ear.
“I’m sorry.” The apology is garbled and raspy.
“You don’t have to be. You don’t have to be Scott, just---lean on me now ok? I’ve got you.” She holds him tighter.
“I’ve got you.” She promises again.
And she does. She always will. It's a promise.