Strong [h.s]

A Fat Load of Eejits

I s i s

"I can't believe you did this," I say with a sigh. Harry's hands are resting palm-up in mine as I take tweezers to each piece of shard stuck in his flesh.

He slowly shrugs. "I'm not surprised at all, really." I roll my eyes and hear Harry suck in a breath as I pull another piece of porcelain out. It's placed on the paper towel with the rest, and I gently dab the wounded areas with a warm rag. Harry's seated at the kitchen table, and Randie is upstairs coloring as she was instructed. Harry managed to get her another bowl of soup without dropping it, and I can only hope that she hasn't spilled any.

He grimages as I draw the last piece of porcelain from his hand. "You're such a klutz, Styles. Luckily, I don't think you'll need stitches from any of this." I wrap a bandage around his left hand, then proceed to wrap the right one. Once I'm finished, I give him another look-over. There are cuts on his forearm, but they're easy enough to fix by the use of band-aids and butterfly stitches.

Harry carefully pushes his hair back, glancing over at the mess on the floor. "Thank you," he says, looking back up at me.

"It's nothing." I answer smoothly, though I can feel the red creeping to my cheeks.

Harry settles his bandaged hands on my waist and pulls me close enough that our knees are pressed together. "What would I do without you?" He asks sincerely.

I fight past the butterflies and somehow manage to speak."Well," I begin with a sly grin, "I wouldn't be here to clean you up, so you'd live on as Harold Edward Porcelainhands." I lamely laugh at my own joke as Harry chuckles.

Once the laughter fades, I look up and Harry's jade-green eyes meet mine. It's quite a picture, the man before me. With his long hair and cut-up skin, he looks like a fictional character right out of a fight scene. He's smiling softly up at me and his thumb begins to rub small circles on my hip, leaving me breathless.

     I hear the patter of Randie's feet upstairs and sigh. "I should probably get to cleaning this," I mumble, gesturing to the last evidence of Harry's accident.

     "No no no, I'll take care of it. You get her to bed." He pushes himself to his feet, dropping his hands to his sides. I follow him out of the kitchen, watching him hobble the slightest bit due to the small cuts on his feet. Shaking my head, I pass the bathroom he's entered to retrieve the broom, and head upstairs.

     I push Randie's door open, revealing her room. As expected, the room is slightly messy with clothes strewn about. She's sitting at her desk in nothing but her underwear, a crayon held in her hand. "Is it shower time?" She asks, setting the crayon down to look at me.

     I don't have a chance to nod before she's left me and is in the bathroom. It's not long before she's in the shower, and I'm sitting on the fuzzy rug waiting for her to finish up. Her shells are still on the windowsil and I'm surprised she hasn't removed them yet.

     "All done!" She announces. I help her out of the tub and wrap a towel around her little body, then pick her up and carry her to her room. She picks out a pair of pajamas, dancing slowly as she heads over to me for help.

     I get her hair brushed and she's soon tucked in, curled up under the warm blankets. "Mommy?" She asks as I'm about to stand up.

     "Hm?"

     "Is Daddy ever going to come here?"