When we make it into our bedroom, Quill's wounds have all but healed mostly. Faint scarring is on his palms though, and I feel a surge of guilt every time I look at them. He keeps them wrapped so I won't have to see them and continues on assuring me that he's okay.
Quill, saints bless him, isn't even the least bit upset. He's pleased that I was able to defend myself so readily, giving me assurances as he and I bathe together, his touch offering a blanket of security. When we're done, he helps dress me, holding me all the night as we slept.
I do not see Lip or Cersei for days, busy in trying to find a trace of the attacker. Quill tries to ease that guilt, stating that Lip wants to help just as much as the next person. But without Lip there to agree to what Quill was saying, I wasn't easily subdued.
