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Feitan knew the human body inside and out. It was soothing, to know the absolute limits of a person, to push them, to drag out whatever he wanted them to feel. He knew how to make a person twitch. That's what made him brilliant at his job.
But he would've been a fool to only learn the acts of breaking. To break a body, you also have to know how to put it together enough to break it again. That had been a great deal of his training; years spent breaking down, building up. Over and over again.
It wasn't his specialty by any means, but that was okay. The Troupe's collective intelligence could combat most nonlethal injuries. Even some of the more deadly ones could be rectified through collective thought. That's what made them a great team; for every weak spot, someone was there to patch it again. Balance was vital to their survival; it always had been.
So when the group reconvened after splitting up, he pulled you away from the rest, tucking you into a corner to tend to the sizable gashes in your arm, the slash just below your left eye. When your body broke, he put it back together, over and over again. There were few words, few sounds beyond his disapproving tsks. But in some part of your heart, you knew his actions meant more than just Troupe obligations.
So when you broke, tears tumbling across your cheeks, teeth biting your lips to keep the sobs in, he pulled you close without a word.
He'd burn the world for you and put you back together again.
