Commitment

Part 45

 Regan looked at him and asked, "So your family have a synthetic-cold-compression?"

Gray hedged with a shrug. "According to Granddad."

Regan recognised his tone, "So Sam thinks he or Loretta has your synthetic-cold-compression?" She looked over at Gray. "Are they really looking for it?"

"Possibly." He sipped at the hot chocolate. She narrowed her eyes. Gray chuckled. "You do know that narrowing your eyes, if you have a black eye, a puffy eye like yours, is a bit moot! And take it from me, I know from personal experience, it is a waste! And it bloody hurts!"

True, thought Regan. She was tempted to roll her eyes, and she also thought it would be the same: Useless and a tad painful.

"So, fount of information about bruises, what would you recommend?" Regan asked tartly.

"About what exactly? Alternatives to narrowing your eyes, or something more generally about bruises?" His eyes twinkled at her.

"Both." She said with a sigh. "In light of your behaviour at this farm," she said pointedly, and he smirked, "at some point, during your convalesce, and with your injuries, and your bruises, someone no doubt would have made you cross?"

"Cross?" He grinned. "I don't do cross!" His grin grew. "Fury, yes, possible."

This was so odd. He was flirting with her. Smiling at him. He never smiled at him. Normally he glowers or snaps or both together. But here, now, he was beaming at her.  Can't be right. Must be her imagination. "Fine! So anytime that you were tempted to narrow your eyes, in frustration, in fury, in questioning, or anything?" She left the question hanging.

"I was too busy gritting my teeth in pain." He said bluntly.

That statement was the equivalent of bursting a balloon with a pin. "Oh." She reached over the table. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..." and she stopped her hand before it reached his hand. She retracted her hand and diverted it towards her mug. And she lifted her mug. "Sorry. I forgot your injuries makes my shiner a pimple!"

He shook his head and narrowed his eyes as he noted her actions. Why did she pull her hand away? "Don't worry about it. Remember, I was unconscious for a fortnight. Missed the tough bits in my treatment!" Reading her face was hard at the moment with her injury. "The swelling had subsided in that time. When I woke up, the bruises on my body were practically a tartan of colours: mainly purple, red, green, yellow!"  

"Still, it must have been really painful." She put her mug back on the table.

"It was. It was hard to decide which part hurt the most!" 

"Didn't the pain relief worked?"

"Yes. Kind of." For some reason he found himself telling her about his convalescence journey. "But I was not keen on taking them for infinity. I really did not want to end up relying on pain relief. Getting hooked on painkillers is not a good idea. So I told them I didn't need the dosage they were recommending." He said frankly.

 "That is silly. Sometimes those huge dosages are necessary. Your body needs help. To recover. Sometimes, your body just needs help. It takes time." Regan could not believe he was talking to her. As if she was his friend. A real friend. That is not possible, she knew that. She tried to dredge the memories of their recent skirmish, like this morning, but those memories were encased with new reminiscences. Like the recollections from a few moments ago, when he escorted her, on the return-journey from the hill to home. The fact that he insisted on carrying the rug, her takeaway boxes, leaving her to carry her bag and her torch. She was pretty sure she didn't stumble on purpose, but it was nice to have someone around who automatically reached for her to steady her. She was pretty sure she could clamber over the stile when the reached the farm, but he all but lifted her over the stile.