Credence is safe. He's not admonished, but Graves will not allow him past the boundary he's set. It's obvious he understands, from the way he bows in quiet acquiescence, polite and thoughtful despite his evidently callous upbringing. Or perhaps it's a product of that very upbringing itself.
Either way, it intrigues more than it should. Credence is special, of this there is no doubt -- he is dangerous and powerful, but in moments like these Graves sees so much more to him. The young man has an uncanny knack of seeing into people, reading them -- a gift honed from years on the outside looking in.
Now, however, he's right here on the inside, and Graves watches as Credence retreats into himself, anxious, and he effortlessly conjures up fresh new dressings out of thin air (at least some aspects of his magic is working), swirling into his hand and wrapping itself into a neat little roll. Credence says he would like to try to do it himself, and Graves senses why.
He's seen the scars that have nothing to do with the lightning when he undressed, dressed him and got him comfortable -- his body is not ugly, every scar tells a story, reveals to Graves the depths of his resilience, the truth of his continued survival under a loveless, unforgiving woman.
They both find their own ways to continue surviving, and Credence's self-loathing does not go unnoticed.
"I've already seen your scars." He says to him, quiet and even. It's not possible for Credence to re-dress with fresh bandages all on his own, but Graves doesn't mention it, not in so many words -- after all, there are so many ways to get to the point. "My apologies." Because emergency or not, it had been an invasion of privacy, and Graves is very aware of what it means; how this had been Credence's secret. "I had to check you for injuries."
no subject
Either way, it intrigues more than it should. Credence is special, of this there is no doubt -- he is dangerous and powerful, but in moments like these Graves sees so much more to him. The young man has an uncanny knack of seeing into people, reading them -- a gift honed from years on the outside looking in.
Now, however, he's right here on the inside, and Graves watches as Credence retreats into himself, anxious, and he effortlessly conjures up fresh new dressings out of thin air (at least some aspects of his magic is working), swirling into his hand and wrapping itself into a neat little roll. Credence says he would like to try to do it himself, and Graves senses why.
He's seen the scars that have nothing to do with the lightning when he undressed, dressed him and got him comfortable -- his body is not ugly, every scar tells a story, reveals to Graves the depths of his resilience, the truth of his continued survival under a loveless, unforgiving woman.
They both find their own ways to continue surviving, and Credence's self-loathing does not go unnoticed.
"I've already seen your scars." He says to him, quiet and even. It's not possible for Credence to re-dress with fresh bandages all on his own, but Graves doesn't mention it, not in so many words -- after all, there are so many ways to get to the point. "My apologies." Because emergency or not, it had been an invasion of privacy, and Graves is very aware of what it means; how this had been Credence's secret. "I had to check you for injuries."