Blood Loss

[intheheart]

Title: Blood Loss
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Felipe didn't mean to let it go this long, or, the downsides of being a vampire.
Warnings: sexual assault is discussed but not committed despite one character's persistent belief, blood.
Notes: Thanks so much to Nikki for reading and helping with the ending. And now I am finally freaking done with these colors. Pretty sure whoever requested biting for the dragon scale green color wasn't expecting this...


Oh fuck, oh fuck, he'd left it too long.

He could tell by way of the dizziness, but he should have noticed sooner-- he'd been pale for a couple days, and now the beds of his nails were a faint bluish color, and where the fuck was he even? Somewhere familiar, he knew these trees and those houses and that delicate ironwork staircase, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where, and he needed to sit down, he was so fucking dizzy.

And so thirsty. They never told you about that, how thirsty you could get, even when it meant nothing at all.

He had to get to a hospital, an emergency room, a blood bank, something. Somewhere with somebody who would know what to do, or even those stupid little plastic packs of blood Zack called vampire juice boxes. He just-- he needed it, needed the blood, and he'd left this way too fucking long.

He'd come here for a reason. Fuck.

Zack. Yes. Zack, and Summer, who was a doctor, who knew something about this. Zack and Summer who lived in Georgetown, on a tree-lined street in a nice brick house with a pretty little ironwork staircase leading up to the front door.

He hauled himself up the stairs mainly by force of will, and didn't so much knock on the door as collapse against it. But it did the trick, because the door opened beneath him after a moment and he pitched forward, collided with a soft, warm person.

"Oh!" Summer, it was Summer whose skin his face was pressed against-- Summer's beating heart, Summer's racing pulse, he tried not to think about it but it was there-- Summer who shouldered his weight and hauled him into the living room with surprising strength. But then she moved bodies for a living, and she might have been little and she might have looked fragile but she was so, so strong, strong enough to dump him on the couch, strong enough to stroke his forehead after and try to talk to him.

He was too far gone, though. All he could think about was the way her neck had throbbed against his cheek, veins and arteries and blood pulsing and fuck, fuck, he shouldn't have come here.

He tried to tell her that. He couldn't tell if she understood.

But she'd turned away, picked up the phone and was dialing-- an ambulance, he hoped, to get him the fuck away from here, from her and the pretty blue veins in her white throat. There was a roaring in his ears now, his own pulse maybe, riptide dragging him under. Summer was talking to someone on speaker and he could barely hear, had to close his eyes and force the concentration so the room would stop spinning around him for just a second.

It's okay, it's okay. It took him a minute to realize he wasn't thinking that. It's okay, Zack was saying, it's okay, whatever you need, do you understand me, it's okay, and he didn't understand because his head was buzzing and whirling and he couldn't understand anything, but then there were cool hands on his face and skin against his mouth and blood beating under it, hypnotic.

He couldn't stop himself. He fucking could not stop himself, could not have even if he'd been fully in control, and he wasn't, wasn't anywhere near. God, God, he hoped she knew it, because he was already-- already and she was shaking under his hands and he couldn't fucking stop, he couldn't, he--

He dragged himself away as soon as he could, threw himself backwards, and Summer just collapsed, fell back on the carpet, mewling. Blood smeared across her neck, the wounds already clotting, and she was crying, whimpering, her eyes squeezed shut and her whole body tense, writhing on the carpet, and fuck, what the fuck had he done to her...

He knew what he'd done to her.

Felipe wasn't much given to self-flagellation. Things happened. He tried to do the right thing, and if he didn't, well, he'd done what he could with the information he had at the time. Except that he wasn't stupid either, not usually, but he'd been so stupid, so criminally stupid this time, because he knew what was in his saliva.

You have to be careful, they'd said, in the orientation classes. If you must bite someone you have to be careful, because vampiric saliva had some little extras designed to keep the-- he made himself think the word-- prey coming back. A mild coagulent, so the victim didn't bleed out accidentally. Some kind of anti-infectious agent, not that he'd need it, since vampiric immune systems tended to be much better. And... and an aphrodisiac, one that made the victim feel like they'd die if they didn't get off right now. An aphrodisiac to keep them sighing and squirming, begging for a touch, crawling back every time they got away because it felt that tortorously good.

And he'd done that. To Summer.

He wanted to die.

But he couldn't leave her, not like this, sobbing and writhing on the carpet just because she wanted to help him. He wanted to die, to bolt, just drop everything and run away: leave his apartment and his stuff and his job and never come back. But if he couldn't help her, he couldn't leave her either. Felipe shuffled a little closer on his knees, and put a tentative hand on her hair.

Summer immediately rolled over and curled around his legs, her mouth pressing open and wet at the seam of his pants. Her eyes were still squeezed shut, tears leaking out between her lashes, God, poor Summer, poor sweet perfect Summer.

"It'll be over soon," he told her, helplessly, stroking her hair. "Don't... don't cry, querida. I'm sorry. It'll be over soon."

"Please," she said, her voice cracking on the word.

He balled his free hand at his side, so hard his nails cut into his palm. "Soon," he said, instead, no longer certain if he was reassuring her or himself. "It'll all be over soon."


By the time Zack came home, it had worn off, or at least faded enough to let Summer fall asleep. Felipe remained kneeling on the carpet beside her, hands curled at his sides. He could have left, probably should have, but what if something happened? He couldn't leave her unprotected. That couldn't be the last thing he did for her. So he stayed, as his legs went numb from his body weight, his nails cutting into his palms.

When Zack slammed through the door, he startled badly enough that he toppled over to one side.

But it was only Zack, and though he couldn't look at him, he knew what Zack was doing-- scanning the room, scanning him and Summer, realizing what had happened. Now he'd be putting the pieces together. Now disgust would be dawning on his face. Now he'd be drawing back, and any second he would say...

"Oh, good," Zack said. "You're both okay."

Which was the last thing Felipe had expected from a man confronted with his fiancee curled limply on the floor, dried tears streaking her face and blood streaking her neck. If he'd come home to the same sight, he'd have killed the vampire kneeling next to her without a second thought. Just drawn and shot.

Unless it was Zack; Zack would have died rather than hurt Summer, and they both knew it. But he wasn't Zack, and he didn't deserve that.

"I did this," he said, straight out and right away, because he'd never have the courage if he didn't. "I did this to her. This is my fault."

Zack ignored him-- well, of course he did, he wasn't stupid, he knew exactly what had happened. If Felipe was very unlucky he'd heard the whole thing, because no one had hung up the phone on this end and maybe Zack hadn't either. He knew, at any rate, and why Felipe was bothering to confess...

Well. He had to say it. To remind himself, if nothing else.

"This is my fault," he repeated, laying the emphasis where it belonged.

"No, it's not," Zack said, absently. "Go lie down on the couch. I have to put her to bed."

Felipe made no move, toward the couch or anywhere. "I should go," he said, but made no move to leave either, because no matter what he'd done, even sick at heart as he was, he still loved to be with them, either or both, and he knew that once he left the house he would never come back.

"Sit your ass down," Zack said, not unkindly. "I brought your kit from work--" he nodded at the door, where a familiar duffel bag sat, "so, you know, do your thing and I'll put her to bed."

Okay, that made sense, Zack probably wanted to lay into him, and Felipe deserved it enough that he wasn't going to protest. He watched miserably as Zack picked Summer up and carried her upstairs, her head against his shoulder and her legs dangling limply, before he got up, grabbed the bag, and opened up his kit.

He went through the motions more or less automatically by now. Set up the stand, start the IV, lie back and wait for the transfusion to take effect. Probably wouldn't take very long, since he'd already gotten something from Summer.

By the time Zack got back downstairs, the transfusion had begun to work-- Felipe already felt more awake, less fuzzy-headed and dizzy. He still had to go to a blood bank and get a proper transfusion done, refill his emergency kit and maybe spend a day or two on the couch, recovering. So he'd be fine. Wonderful.

Zack came to stand beside the couch and looked at him critically for a moment, then said, "You look better."

"I feel a little better," he said, which was a lie, but whatever.

"Sure," Zack said, because Zack was a mind-reading asshole, and poked at his legs. "Sit up then. You wanna watch some TV?"

Which did not sound like laying into him. Felipe stared at his best friend for a while, then said, "What?"

"Not that hard a question," Zack said. "Or at least I didn't think it was. Blood loss go to your head?"

"Not what was happening," Felipe said. "Aren't you going to yell at me?" At this point he would almost feel better if Zack did.

Zack sighed. "Look, if we're going to do this, can you put your legs on the floor so I can at least sit down? It's been a long day."

Yeah, and his friend sexually assaulting his fiancee probably hadn't helped. Felipe sat up without another word, swinging his legs to the floor and staring dead ahead at the silent TV. Beside him, Zack settled into the couch with a groan.

There was a moment of silence, and then Zack said, "Okay, I think I'm ready to deal with this. Why should I be yelling at you?"

Felipe didn't dare look at him. "Are you going to make me spell it out?"

"Christ," Zack said. "Okay, look, you were stupid letting it get that bad, but I think you know that so I don't really see why I have to yell at you for it."

"I fucked up," Felipe said, because if he was going to do this then he was going to do it all the way. "And I did that to her."

Zack poked him in the hip, and before he could stop himself he'd turned. His best friend wore a confused expression, brow and nose wrinkled. "Really? That's what this is about?"

"What the hell else would it be about?" he demanded. "I fucking... I assaulted her, Jesus, how are you okay with this?"

Another sigh, and Zack leaned back against the couch, tipping his head against the back. "I don't have the energy for this to be a thing right now," he told the ceiling, and then, "You didn't assault her."

"You weren't here," Felipe said, biting the words out through his teeth. "She was... you weren't here, okay, you don't know what happened."

"No," Zack said, in the tones of one humoring a small and fretful child, "but we did talk about this. She knew that was going to happen."

Felipe stared at him. "What?"

Zack shrugged. "She knew what was going to happen and she did it anyway. You didn't molest her."

"She didn't know how it would feel," Felipe said, flatly, remembering her face and her whimpering cries.

"Well, no," Zack said. "But like I said, we did talk about this, or something like this. What would happen in an emergency. She brought up the sex thing and I told her it was okay." He shrugged. "It's still okay, now that it's happened. I'm just saying."

"It's okay that I assaulted your fiancee," Felipe said, and when Zack slitted his eyes open to glare, he added, "I'm just trying to get this straight."

"Fucking-- I really don't have the energy for this," Zack said. "You're not going to believe me anyway."

It was a statement, the way he said it, but it was also true. Felipe stayed silent.

Zack waited a moment, then nodded, as if that confirmed everything. "So you stay here until she wakes up and you talk to her. And don't you try to sneak out first, either, I'll fucking find your ass. I'm a detective, I can do that."

Okay, actually, that was fair. Summer deserved the chance to yell at him herself. Felipe nodded, silently, and lay back on the couch to let the IV do its work.



He could've sworn that he'd be up all night, staring at the ceiling and castigating himself, but he closed his eyes one moment and opened them again on a morning-lit ceiling. Summer was leaning over him, sleepy-eyed and beautiful.

"Good morning," she said, and yawned. "You still look pale. Are you going to the blood bank today? Do you need a ride?"

Felipe stared at her. This was not the reaction he'd expected.

"I..." he started, and then chickened out. "Yeah, I'm going, but I'll take the bus."

She yawned again, and sat down on the couch beside him. He pulled his feet up for her half a beat too late. "All right, if you're sure."

Like he was going to ask for any more favors, when the last one... oh, God, he had to ask. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," she said. "I feel worse after I've given blood."

"I really doubt that," he said, and regretted it the second it was out. The second before, really, but he hadn't been able to stop himself, hadn't been able to just take this gift she was offering him. But if he had...

If he had, she would always be wary around him, always second-guessing, and he couldn't stand the thought of that.

Summer was looking at him, her eyes open very wide. "What? I always feel bad after I give blood. I know you're not supposed to, but it makes me dizzy, even after the cookies."

Was she really this generous? Was anyone? "That isn't what I meant."

She blinked at him again, and then it dawned on her; he watched it move across her face, and felt sick. "Oh, that."

Yes, that. Felipe looked away, swung his feet down off the couch and sat up, shutting off the IV as he did so. It was long since empty anyway. "I'm sorry," he said, inadequate as it was. "I'll go."

"You absolutely will not," Summer said, with surprising vehemence. He looked at her, startled, and saw... was that anger? "You're sick, you need to lie down longer."

Okay, he was a little dizzy still, and she was always good at spotting that, but... what? "It's fine," he tried. "I'm fine. You don't have to--"

Put up with me, he was going to say, but Summer was already shaking her head, eyebrows pressing together. "No," she said, and pushed him back against the couch. "Stay." There was not an inch of room for disobedience in her voice.

Felipe sagged back against the couch and tried not to feel relief. It was a temporary reprieve, nothing more. She was a doctor, she took the Hippocratic Oath seriously, and she would not allow him to hurt himself. That was all.

Summer was still watching him, though, the line between her eyebrows growing more and more pronounced. "Zack said you'd blame yourself," she said, after a while. "I didn't believe him, but he was right, wasn't he?"

"Well," he said, and then, "it is my fault."

Oh, that was definitely anger now. "Don't be stupid," she said. "I mean, you shouldn't have let it go so long, but everyone does that early on. Now you know and you won't do it again, will you?"

It didn't seem like she expected an answer, but Felipe said, "No," anyway, meekly.

"And," she continued, barrelling on without acknowledging him, "I knew what was going to happen. It's fine. It's not the first time it's happened to me and it probably won't be the last, and I love you and I don't want you to die."

"But..." he began, and then her words sank in-- she loved him. She loved him. He still felt awful, he still couldn't believe he'd done that to her, and he still knew she didn't mean it the way he wanted her to, but... she loved him.

She'd never said that before.

"No buts," Summer said, oblivious to his epiphany. "Stay there. I'll get you some orange juice and then I'll take you to the blood bank. And don't argue."

Not that he would, now. Not that she would allow him. "I won't," Felipe said anyway, and rested his head back against the couch.

For the first time today, he felt like smiling.