I'll Protect You (Original Version)

The royals fight fire with fire.

Have you ever woken up in the dead of night filled with the sensation that you've been knocked by a Bludger and shot with arrows a bunch of time and your nerves feel like they're on fire and all you want to do is knock yourself out again?

Oh, wait, nevermind. That's just me.

The room I was my own, except the bed felt completely different. It was much more plush and soft, like I had been laid on clouds or feathers. Was I hallucinating? Did I die? Maybe the afterlife was your room except with a more comfortable bed.

Vanilla bon-bon was hanging around the air, the same fragrance my father liked to buy me when he put on a fedora, a trench coat and sunglasses to go shopping.

A chill fell over me and I turned into the pillow, bunching up the comforter and curling into a tight ball. Just then, the door creaked open and many footsteps piled in, not all of them light and soft.

"Zen, walk softer, you're going to wake her!" Minnie scolded with a harsh whisper.

"She's been unconscious the whole day. My footsteps are not going to wake her," Zen snapped. "You get so bossy when you're anxious, Minerva."

Utter silence. And then:
"What did you just call me?"

"If you both start picking a fight right here and now, I am going to push you out the window," Logan threatened. "Fell said she needed rest, and I don't think a brawl in her bedroom is going to make that concussion any better."

I got a concussion? How--

I had been knocked to the pavement, out of the way of the vehicle. The side of my head had slammed across the ground. My fingers itched to touch the side of my head, where I could feel a bandage wrapped around my head. But when you're unconscious, people have some very interesting conversations.

"Where's Alec?" Zen inquired.

"I think he's outside on the roof. He's been up there ever since we came back. I think he blames himself for what happened. It's kind of romantic of him, spending his time alone, torturing himself over something that wasn't his fault. Actually, he looks like you, Logan, when you're about to murder someone except...les murderous."

And, ladies and gentlemen, that was Minerva Bellamy's way of complimenting other people.

I heard the footsteps approach my bed. A chair scraped across the floorboard and was placed beside my bed. Someone took my hand and grasped it between theirs. Their fingers and palm was soft and warm, squeezing my hand tightly.

"'"She looks really bad," Minnie commented quietly. Her voice came from the left side of the bed, which ruled out the fact that she was holding my hand.

"Well, what'd you expect?" Zen scoffed. His voice too came from the left side, right beside Minnie. That meant Logan was holding my hand.

"She got punched in the eye, almost hit by a car, and was knocked to the ground and got a concussion. What do you want her to look like? No, Minnie, after going through that, she should be looking like a Victoria's Secret model. She shouldn't look really bad at all."

Minnie cracked, and began rapidly cursing at him in French. Even with my eyes closed, I could just see her, short and raging, her manicured fingers tugging at the roots of her black hair, her dark eyes glaring furiuosly at the lofty-voiced Zen. 

"Vous faible durée de vie, narcissique, pompeux, crétin la grosse tête!"

Logan snickered softly.

"Yeah? Well, at least I'm not 5'4"," he said.

I couldn't help it; I laughed. Logan's hand tightened on mine as I finally decided to get up, holding in my snickers. My other hand was muffling my mouth. Minnie hated it when people made fun of her height. Especially when the person was Zen, who was a whopping 6'2". It destroyed her inside and she hated him for it.