Just a Scratch – Villainous (MU), Dr Flug and White Hat

[thecrazyalaskan]

Title: Just a Scratch
Author: TheCrazyAlaskan
Fandom / Setting: Villainous – Mirror Universe / Heroic AU
Characters / Pairings: Dr. Isaac Flug, White Hat (implied / squinty Paperhat)
Rating: T+
Word Count: 1349
Warnings / Notes: TW: References to transphobic violence (and an implication of non-con); Written for Round 8 of the Hurt / Comfort Bingo – Healers
Summary: His bedside manner needed work, but White Hat wasn't going to deny that he needed Dr. Flug's help with this one.

• • •

As a general rule, Flug liked to know where his underlings were at any given time—made I easier to keep things running smoothly. Thereto, from time to time it lead to some… unusual situations.

Case in point, now, as he was passing one of the first floor bathrooms. He had almost passed it without incident when a soft hiss of pain filtered through the wooden door. He paused, brow furrowing under his paper bag. It couldn’t have been 606, and it was too low-pitched to be Clemencia—which left White Hat, the one employee who, last Flug knew, wasn't even in the house.

The fuck…? He knocked twice on the door. "Something going on in there that I should know about?" he called.

From within, Flug could hear shuffling, a poorly concealed whimper of pain—"Just a minute, Doctor—!" The words were thick with an almost Georgian accent, not to mention more than a bit of what Flug could only describe as panic. "I'll be out in a—"

"I'll just let myself in," Flug answered, producing a master key and unlocking the door. "Hope you're dressed."

"Oh, Doctor, that's really not—" The door swung open, putting the pair face to face as White Hat's shoulders shoulder slumped in defeat. "Necessary."

Flug looked his assistant over. He didn't look radically different from when he left the house, but the difference was marked. More than looking defeated, he looked almost vulnerable—to say nothing of battered and bloodied. The fact that he was hugging himself, and a strap of the light blue sundress in which he'd left the house earlier that day torn and dangling uselessly only added to the illusion. "What the fuck happened to you?" Flug asked, looking him over again, more critically this time.

"It looks much worse than it actually is," White Hat offered, standing up a little straighter. "There's no need to—"

"Oh bullshit." Flug shouldered past him, the door swinging closed behind him. "Look at yourself!"

"I already have, Doctor," he mumbled, looking down at the bandages and antiseptics spread out over the countertop.

"What the hell happened?" Flug repeated, catching White Hat by the chin and turning his face from side to side. "What did you do?"

"Just—afternoon out," he mumbled, letting himself be handled and wincing when Flug's fingers probed too closely to the cut on his cheek. "Lunch, a little window shopping—"

"The point, if you please," Flug cut in.

"I guess…" White Hat reached up and pulled off the wide-brimmed hat he'd opted for in lieu of his typical top hat. "Someone like me attracts a lot of attention, huh?"

"Care to elaborate?" Flug prompted, his tone dry.

"Doctor, really—there's no need to—" The words died on his tongue when he saw the withering look with which Flug fixed him. "Two of them."

 

"Jesus fuck—" Flug indicated a free corner of the countertop, wordlessly ordering him to sit. "What'd you do?"

He gestured to himself, fingers curling around the hem of his sundress as he complied. "I guess it's a little obvious to say that I don't pass well?"

Flug paused, his coat halfway off his frame. "You got the shit kicked out of you because—"

"I don't want to talk about it," White Hat interrupted. "That's why I just… when I got back I came straight here."

"You genuinely thought that you could sneak something like this past me?" Flug asked, fully pulling off his coat and work gloves.

"No, never!" he protested. "I didn’t want to worry anyone…"

"The only ones who should be worried—" Flug opened a bottle of peroxide from the first aid kit under the sink and wet a washcloth with it—"are the idiots who attacked my employee. You filed a report, right?"

Somehow, White Hat's silence said more than had he simply denied it outright. "You didn't report it?" Flug pressed.

"What would I say?" White Hat murmured, almost sorrowfully. "'I was attacked by two men in an alleyway because of my gender expression—so sorry, I didn't get a good look at their faces'?" He shook his head. "No police officer would ever take me seriously."

Flug huffed as he caught turned his assistant's face to more closely assess the injuries. "Probably for the best—cops are just wannabe heroes" he pronounced. "No difference."

White Hat shrugged, then flinched as Flug started to clean the worst of the cuts. "That stings…"

"Does it hurt any worse than getting it did?" Flug asked flatly.

"No…" he replied, his fingers curling over the edge of the counter and letting Flug work.

"What I don't understand," Flug said after several minutes of working in silence, "is why you don’t just shapeshift—it'd make passing easier, wouldn’t it?"

"I'm a… I guess you'd call me a lesser class of being," White Hat explained, passing Flug a bandage when he sensed it was needed. "That kind of shapeshifting is exhausting—and passing really isn't the goal, I just… My identity isn't limited strictly to a dress or a suit or—it's hard to explain."

"Of course you don't shapeshift," Flug muttered as he continued to clean and dress the wounds. "You're gonna have one hell of a shiner tomorrow—ice it later, is that understood?"

White Hat's hand lifted to probe under his left eye, wincing at how tender it was, before nodding slowly. "They… kinda punched me first?" he admitted.

Flug rooted around in the first aid kit before pushing a pack of Aleve into White Hat's palm. "What else?"

"Hmm?" White Hat's brow furrowed. "I don’t understand the question, Doctor?"

Flug held up the broken strap. "What else did they do to you?" he repeated.

He started to shake his head, but the implications seemed to sink in all at once, and his eyes widened in horror. "No, no—nothing like that! When… That's where one of them grabbed me, and when… this—" He gestured vaguely to the black eye—"happened, the strap broke."

"That's really what happened?" Flug asked, turning White Hat's face to give him a final once over (and to try to read if he was hiding something).

"I promise, Doctor," he swore, laying his hand on top of Flug's. "I was attacked—but not like… that."

The fact that Flug knew White Hat to be an atrocious liar aside, there was such sincerity in the words that they couldn't be anything but true. "Good," he pronounced, releasing his assistant's face. "If they had I'd have killed them both for fucking up my employee."

"There's no need to defend my honor, Doctor," White Hat reassured, "but thank you all the same."

"Don't read too deeply into it," he warned, closing the first aid kit. "I might be a villain but I do have some standards. Shit like this happens again, you bring it to me—got it?"

"Yes sir," White Hat confirmed.

"Get that iced," he went on, washing his hands. "Twenty on, forty off—after that I have projects I need you to work on."

He nodded in understanding before sliding off the counter. "Thank you for putting me back together again—I appreciate it."

"Can’t have you walking around looking like fucking Fight Club," Flug replied, as if that were the simplest answer in the world. "Bad for morale—bad for business."

"Right." Even after all that, White Hat remained agreeable and upbeat, and Flug couldn’t decide if it was admirable or downright nauseating. "Y'know, Doctor, you're very good at first aid—even though your bedside manner needs a little work."

Flug laughed at the idea. "Good thing I'm not that kind of doctor, so my bedside manner can be whatever I want."

The flip reply didn’t deter him, and his bright smile almost belied his injuries. "Just a thought all the same."