meridian_rose

Title: Scar Tissue
Fandom: Original
'Verse/Series: Aura
Pairing/Characters: Aura, Carter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 834
Prompt: For the cottoncandy_bingo prompt 'scars'
Summary: Carter and Aura both have scars.
Warnings: None
Index Page for this series: DW / LJ


When they got back to the apartment they were soaked through by the driving rain. Aura called Nikolai's name as she opened the door but there was no answer.

While Aura moved to turn on the gas fire, Carter slipped off his coat. He hung it on one of the empty coat pegs by the door and, for good measure, took off his shoes.

"Your coat is not waterproof," she admonished, wiping strands of sodden hair from her face. She slipped off her own coat, showing she was dry underneath, where Carter's shirt was wet. There were some damp patches by his knees, though perhaps because of the angle of the rain, his lower half wasn't nearly so drenched.

He shrugged. "I didn't expect it to rain so much."

"Take your shirt off. I'll get you something of Nikolai's to wear. You're not too dissimilar in size." She kicked off her own shoes by the fire and went to the master bedroom.

Hesitantly, Carter unbuttoned his cotton shirt and slid it off. It was cold enough that he was also wearing a vest, and he was glad of the extra layer. He draped his shirt over the fire guard that was sitting to the side of the fireplace, and crouched down to warm his hands.

Aura soon returned with a t-shirt. "Take that off too," she said, motioning to his vest. "Unless," and she gave a sly grin, "you're determined to play at being Bruce Willis in 'Die Hard'."

Carter wasn't in the mood to argue. He pulled the slightly soggy vest off over his head, tossing it aside, and held out his hand for the dry garment. Aura was staring at his torso and didn't appear to notice his outstretched hand.

Growing slightly uncomfortable, Carter followed her gaze. She reached out, fingers almost but not quite caressing the damaged skin just below his ribs. She looked up, the unspoken question evident in her eyes.

"I got that in prison," he said. "I'm told it will fade more in time."

Aura nodded, sympathy etched on her features. "Does it hurt, still?"

Carter shook his head. "Not often." Sometimes he thought the occasional twinges of pain were more psychological than physical, something he'd never admitted to the therapist he'd been forced to see until recently. He needed to work and so he needed to be sane, or at least seen to be sane.

Lucky he hadn't met Aura back then. Believing he was allied with supernatural creatures would have been an even bigger potential psychosis to hide. And if he hadn't seen what he had with his own eyes, he wouldn't have accepted it, so why should anyone take his word for it?

Impulsively he took Aura's hand and pressed her hand to the scar. "See. It doesn't hurt."

He released her hand but she didn't pull away. Instead she gently traced the jagged outline of the scar in what he suddenly felt was a sensual manner.

He'd seen Nikolai caress Aura's face that way.

His own blemish suddenly seemed insignificant.

"It's not so bad," he said as she moved away finally. He dressed in the clean red t-shirt, grateful for the soft warmth of the cotton against his chest. "I mean, at least it's not usually on show."

Aura nodded and gave him a sad smile. She gestured to her cheek. "I use my Allure a lot. It could be worse. But yes, sometimes people notice. Sometimes they are unkind."

She lowered her gaze. Carter felt a wave of fierce protectiveness well up in him, despite the fact that Aura could take out three armed men before he'd even drawn his weapon.

"I've never told you how I got it," Aura said, staring at the flames. "I - I think it's not the time. But I will. Soon."

He nodded. From what he could gather, he guessed the incident that had scarred her was particularly traumatic. He couldn't blame her for not wanting to talk about it.

"It's not a weakness." As she lifted her head he clarified, "We survived. The scars are reminders of that."

She considered this for a moment. "You're of the school of thought that scars are badges of honour?"

Not exactly, but close enough, he supposed. "I'd rather be a survivor than a victim," he said bluntly.

Aura swallowed. She stepped in close to him and cupped his chin in one hand. She kissed his cheek, keeping contact for longer than was strictly necessary.

"I'll put the kettle on," she said, regaining her usual bluster. "I think we need a warm drink."

He watched her head off to the kitchen and took a seat by the fire. A thought occurred to him as he smoothed out a crease from the borrowed t-shirt. Maybe next time his fingers brushed his own scar tissue he wouldn't relive the moment it happened, with the attendant fear and pain. He could think of Aura's gentle caress instead. That would be a gift indeed.