The Undoing of Sidekicks | ✓

five

(a/n: dedicated to ElvishSorceress for some kickass comments. much love girlie (or boyie, for all i know))

five

ZAZU'S eyes had nearly bugged out of her head when I wound up in the foyer of Sylvester House at a sad, sad hour in the morning. Not because of the time, obviously, but because I looked like an extra in a slasher movie. 

You're an idiot, she signed, with a raised brow.  Then she beckoned me with her finger to come to her room. She was holed up in a dark, technological den which no one dared enter — except me and her. We moved silently through the quiet house, with Zazu leading the way. I limped in after her as she made sure to quietly shut the door. 

In one corner of her room, she unearthed a first aid kit which she set on one of her desks. Zazu had one of the bigger rooms of Sylvester House, as she'd been here a long time. In it she'd dragged at least three different desks acquired at various garage sales, on which she'd propped a bunch of tech stuff. A dozen different, blinking screens littered the room. The blue light from her monitors scattered across the battered walls, partially covered with Disney posters which attempted to brighten up the room. 

The shades were drawn completely shut, turning everything that wasn't lit up by screens into a murky darkness. I moved through that darkness, feeling my way to the small chair I knew Zazu had by her bed. When my fingers grasped its spine, I gratefully sunk down in a heap of tired bones. 

Meanwhile, Zazu had dug up bandages and a semi-filled bottle of rubbing alcohol. She'd dumped them beside the kit, efficiently sorting through the other contents before she deemed she had enough to fix my Humpty-Dumpty self. Once done, she moved over to me. 

I waited until she flicked on the nightstand light, knowing she usually preferred darkness. I was, however, immensely comforted that she'd at least deigned to have some light while tending to my wounds. 

It's going to sting, Zazu signed after placing the items on the nightstand. 

I barely had enough energy to lift my arms, so I nodded at her in response. I knew all about the pains of treating wounds — something that at times hurt more than receiving the injury in question. The adrenaline rush had worn off, leaving me aching and mad. I had nothing to channel those emotions into other than to close them off. 

Put your big-girl spandex pants on and suck it up, stupid. 

I had to agree with my subconscious on this one, that was for sure. So I half-slipped out of my suit, reminding myself to sew up the new tears when I found the time. Zazu bent over my arm, quickly rubbing the antiseptic on my raw, injured skin. 

Suppressing the wince was hard, and a light hiss escaped me as she rubbed the cotton pad harder into my arm. When I involuntarily flinched, she only grasped my arm harder. There was a light annoyance flickering in her eyes, one I know she'd never act on but would ignore until it went away. 

I had engaged Mistress in a fight tonight, without contacting her. She'd been worried, and angry. 

And most likely guilty for not finding it out herself, I thought.

Sometimes I needed to remind myself that I wasn't just Leona Osman, spending her nights as Nymph. I was also the Leona Osman partially responsible for the security and well-being of several minors, keeping our unstable household running.