Cover Your Tracks [HS][2014 VERSION]

53. Safe and Sound

"Don't you dare look out your window, darling everything's on fire. The war outside our door keeps raging on. Hold onto this lullaby even when the music's gone, gone . . ."

Harry and I are huddled together in the far corner of the box cart, hiding away from the unforgiving wind. His cold being radiates warmth. I indulge in it, pressing myself impossibly close to him in an attempt to absorb the heat he emits. The chilly night air manages to nip at every exposed inch of skin along my body. I curl into myself and shiver uncontrollably, teeth chattering along with the screeching of the rail cars.

Something seeps into my clothes as I press myself against him. Pulling away, I move to scan my eyes over Harry. He watches me all the while, lips set in a thin line and face void of emotion.

I had not noticed in the absence of light that the night provided, but among the dried blood stains that cover his t-shirt are fresh patches of crimson. Upon taking a closer look, I see that in the center of them are tears in his shirt and jagged pieces of glass immersed in his skin.

"Harry, you're bleeding."

"I know," he says simply, seeming uninterested.

"You should have told me. I wouldn't have been leaning on you just now and I certainly would not have let you carry me halfway here."

He stares at me with indifference. After a few seconds of silence, I push myself up to rest my weight on my knees. He peers up upon my hands taking hold of his knees and pulling them apart so that I can slot myself between them.

"What are you doing?" he asks lowly.

"Taking care of you," I tell him. He parts his busted, cracked lips in protest but I press my fingers against them as if to silence him. "No, let me do this."

He rolls his eyes and rolls his head back onto the wall of the rail cart. Stretching his legs out, they lie on either side of me instead of being bent at the knees. To accommodate the new position, I settle my knees around his thighs and lean forward.

"Um, can you...?"

My eyes fall to his shirt. The black material clings tightly to his skin, outlining the shape of his broad shoulders and muscled torso. There is remembrance of my hands slipping beneath the hemline of his shirt and exploring the expanse of his warm, smooth skin. My cheeks flush at the memory; an indication of my discomfort in removing the material myself.

"I'd much prefer you do it."

His words catch me off-guard. I shouldn't be surprised, however; he has always been confident when it came to being physical. He isn't ashamed in voicing his desires.

"I've never..." I trail off, my voice uncertain. He stares at me with a look of disapproval that has me at a loss of words. "I, uh...I mean, I don't want to hurt you, is all."

"I would rather you hurt me than me hurt myself," he admits. "There's no way around it, Country."

I nod my head and take my lip between my teeth. Lowering my hands to the hem of his t-shirt, I try not to make my nervousness apparent. I twist the material between my fingers and gently peel it off of his torso. Inch by inch, his skin is revealed to me, but not without imperfections. His old scars are still there, and to add onto the collection are the glass shards that had sunken into his flesh.

He makes it easier on me, raising his arms above his head when the time comes for the material to be completely removed. The pain caused is evident not by words spoken but by the expressions he fails in masking from me. I ramble out apology after apology but he only hushes me with promises of him being alright.