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The alarms had stopped screaming long before the adrenaline faded.
That was the cruel part, Robert thought—the silence afterward.
The way it pressed in on the ears, heavier than the chaos that came before it.
They were alone now in a temporary medical shelter hastily set up inside an abandoned conference wing.
The evacuation had been delayed, routes blocked, decisions made too late.
Robert had guided panicked staff and visitors through smoke and confusion, his mind working on instinct rather than symbols for once.
Patrick had stayed behind longer than he should have.
Robert noticed the blood only after the doors sealed.
“Patrick,” he said sharply, crossing the room in three quick strides. “You’re hurt.”
Patrick McKenna, usually so composed, so alert, waved it off with a weak attempt at humor. “Occupational hazard. Nothing dramatic.”
Robert didn’t answer.
He knelt in front of him, eyes already cataloging details: the way Patrick’s jaw was clenched too tightly, the way his left arm hung unnaturally close to his side, the dark stain spreading through his sleeve.
“This isn’t nothing,” Robert said, voice calm but firm. “Sit still.”
Patrick hesitated—then, reluctantly, obeyed.
The irony wasn’t lost on either of them.
Patrick was the protector.
The one trained for emergencies, for violence, for danger. Robert’s world was books and patterns, quiet rooms and ancient truths. Yet here they were, roles reversed.
Robert opened the emergency kit with hands steadier than he felt.
“You should have left earlier,” Robert said softly, not accusing—just stating the truth.
Patrick exhaled. “Someone had to make sure everyone got out.”
Robert didn’t respond to that.
He cleaned the wound instead, careful, methodical.
The cut wasn’t life-threatening, but it was deep enough to explain the paleness creeping into Patrick’s face.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by distant structural groans and the faint hum of emergency power.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Patrick murmured.
Robert allowed himself a small smile. “I could say the same.”
Patrick huffed a laugh that turned into a wince.
“Guess I don’t have much energy for sarcasm.”
That alone told Robert how bad it was.
When the bleeding was finally under control, Robert helped him lean back against the wall, supporting more weight than Patrick wanted to admit.
“You don’t have to do this,” Patrick said quietly. “Medical team will—”
“—arrive when they can,” Robert finished. “Until then, you’re stuck with me.”
Patrick studied him, eyes sharp even through the fatigue.
“You’re handling this well.”
Robert paused, considering.
“I’ve spent my life solving puzzles left behind by people long dead,” he said. “This is… simpler. You’re right here.”
Something shifted in Patrick’s expression.
Robert noticed it, the subtle softening.
The way Patrick’s shoulders lowered just a fraction, as if he’d finally allowed himself to rest.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time lost its edges.
Patrick’s breathing evened out, though his eyes remained open, fixed on some invisible point ahead.
“Robert,” he said suddenly.
“Yes?”
“I don’t like being like this.”
Robert followed his gaze. “Like what?”
“Vulnerable,” Patrick admitted. The word seemed to cost him something. “Depending on someone else.”
Robert said nothing at first.
He adjusted the blanket around Patrick’s shoulders instead, grounding the moment in action.
“Everyone depends on someone,” Robert said at last. “Even guardians.”
Patrick closed his eyes. “You don’t usually see me like this.”
“No,” Robert agreed. “But I’m honored you’re letting me.”
That earned him a quiet, breathless laugh.
“You know,” Patrick said, “I’ve stood in front of armed threats without blinking. But this?” He gestured weakly at himself. “This scares me more.”
Robert leaned closer, lowering his voice as if the walls themselves were listening.
“Being hurt doesn’t make you less strong,” he said. “It makes you human.”
Patrick opened his eyes then, meeting Robert’s gaze fully for the first time since the evacuation.
And for once, there were no walls.
“I don’t let many people see this side of me,” Patrick said. “The fear. The doubt.”
“I know,” Robert replied. “I can see the armor even when it’s invisible.”
Patrick studied him in silence, then nodded slowly.
“I trust you,” he said.
The words settled between them, heavy and fragile.
Robert swallowed. “Then let me take care of you.”
He stayed like that, close but not crowding, offering presence rather than solutions.
Patrick’s head eventually tipped slightly, resting against Robert’s shoulder.
Neither of them moved.
The building creaked. The world outside remained uncertain.
But in that quiet, stripped of symbols and danger, something else took shape—something softer, steadier.
When help finally arrived, hours later, Patrick was already asleep.
Robert didn’t move until they told him he had to.
And even then, he stayed close.
Because guardians, Robert realized, deserved care too.