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In the end it had been easier than expected. Resistance was scarce, scattered, and it had taken little time in locating and extracting Ochre from the cell he'd been held in. Getting him away from that place was priority; she would seek vengeance another night. They would pay, in due time, she would see to it. With interest. But her focus has been narrowly focused. Find Marcasite, bring them all back safely, and lose herself in the task of treating his injuries and reassuring the both of them that he was safe again.

It was how Porsha came to be laying with her head pillowed on Slate's abdomen, his arm supported by one hand as she dabbed methodically at the raw rope wounds that circled his wrist. There was a small pile of spent cotton balls and a bottle of peroxide laying on a clean towel beside her hip. What had been a ruin of a mess was much cleaner now, set for antiseptic and bandaging.

The room itself was dim, lit only by the bedside lamp. Beside it, on the night stand, Slate's violin case lay closed, but not latched. It was neater than when he'd disappeared, a by product of the worry. A compulsive drive to remain busy, manifesting in anxioys cleaning and keeping herself buried in her duties as a general. It had, at the very least, kept her from all out panicking, but only just.

She'd been on the verge of tearing the city apart brick by brick for answers.

The last soden ball was added to the bowl with the rest, and the fighter instead reached for the antiseptic and the gauze, laying both on her own stomach for easy access. Her actions were all careful yet methodical and precise. Afraid to hurt him more, but knowing what was needed to treat the rope burns properly. There were pain killers waiting for him, but they'd likely pull him under, and she was almost desperate for the sound of his voice just then. Soon he could sleep, but not yet.

"They aren't the righteous defenders they sell themselves to be. What purpose did that serve? None." She was still seething, but she kept her voice soft and level. It did nothing to let that anger out now. Served no one. He needed her calm and present, and she would give him that.

The admission made her pause as she finished applying the antiseptic, the tube hanging loosely in her fingers as she let his words wash over him. "If I could make that a reality for you, I would." If it was allowed, she'd let him lay down his arms. He wasn't the same as her, as his brother. The problem, of course, was that it wasn't permitted. There were operations in place to seek out and deal with inactive agents, and she would not let him fall under that judgement. "You'll have to," and she sounded as sorry as she felt for having to say it. "But I can help you get stronger."

It wasn't an end all fix, nothing was, but it could help, perhaps. If her agents were strong, if they were skilled fighters, fast and agile. If she could give them every edge available, maybe it would tip the scale in their favor.

Something else he'd said came back to her, and she ground as she started wrapping his wrist. "What did the blond look like?"

"You won't have to go out alone." That, at lest, she could make sure of. Either taking both him and Marcasite out together with her, or one or the other. She didn't want either wandering around on their own, not after what had happened to him. She'd been paranoid before now, after her brawl with Thraen, now? Now there was an almost desperate need to keep them safe. Something that just wasn't possible if she wasn't with them.

There would be no ditching out of training this time around, but she was perhaps a better fit for him, more understanding. She could create a program around his abilities, see to his needs after. It was part of her job, after all, not just as a general in the Negaverse, but as professional fighter. Jade had no experience before, and she was doing well with what little Porsha had introduced so far. She could make this work, there was little doubt of that.

Not that she'd have any time to really consider this. Slate's answer came with a sudden icy chill that made the girl stiffen where she lay against him, fingertips flexing against his arm as her other hand stilled with the gauze only half applied. Pale eyes widening as leaden sense of dread settled like a rock in the pit of her stomach. Both were familiar, truth be told, but it was only the former that turned the fighter's blood to ice in her veins. The former that could by mere mention invoke a visceral rage that had pretty lips twisting up in a silent snarl. Thraen.

It took a moment for her to resume the job she'd been doing. Gently looping the soft gauze a few more times around his wrist before taping it off and slowly lowering it to lay on her stomach, her delicate fingers to play across the back of his knuckles. "The blonde is Thraen." She couldn't remember if she'd told him the name, as heavily sedated as she'd been. "He's the one that left the scar on my chest." If he'd known that Ochre was one of her's...

The thought made her throat tight, and she pushed it aside in favor of answering his question.

"Someone from their side tipped us off, apparently. I'm not sure who. They told Cinnabar." Her lingering frown turned thoughtful. "By the time we arrived there was nothing in play that prevented us from teleporting within the grounds of the prison. Whatever device they had, it was either overloaded by us coming to get you, or had already been taken care before we got there." Someone probably knew the details, but Porsha hadn't bothered to seek that information out. It wasn't prudent, not yet. Her priority lay in the well being of her agents first and foremost.

The repetitive stroke of her fingers along the back of his hand persisted, perhaps betraying her worry, or her relief with having gotten him back. Even if they hadn't been close, he was still her's, and she'd have ripped her way through any captors to free him, but because they spent so much time together, and because he'd become important to her, it had left her almost frantic. There was danger in attachments, Porsha knew that all to well. What could be wielded as a powerful weapon against Order, could just as easily be turned back against her if she wasn't careful.

She needed to be more careful.

Thraen might not have hurt Ochre this time, but that was never a guarantee, not with that senshi. He was far to ruthless, and far too practical.

Mention of thanking Cinnabar managed to make Porsha smile, and she shook her head. "Not yet, but I have every intention to. Getting you out of there was a more pressing concern." And taking care of him now, but she would be sure Cinnabar knew how grateful she was, and perhaps a little prodding would let her find out just who had tipped them off. Someone to keep an eye out for, like this squire that had apparently been trying to help her trapped corrupt. She, too, had earned a certain amount of careful consideration. If nothing else, she would escape the general's immediate wrath is their paths happened to cross.

Especially if she was unhappy within the life she'd been awakened into. "I could talk to her," she offered, nails running softly up and down Slate's bare arm. "See where she stands, if I could help persuade her." She wasn't always forceful, or frightening. Sometimes a more delicate hand was required, and she could also provide that.

His arm was given a gentle pat as she moved to sit up again, turning on the bed to look down at him. He held himself stiffly, even laying down. "I think a nice long, warm bath is in order. Soak the atrophy out of your body." Besides, it would probably feel wonderful to wash away the last week of captivity.

"That can probably be arranged." Considering he would be joining her on her nightly patrols for a while, it seemed likely he'd be with her when she found the half-youma general. If he wanted to show his gratitude, who was she to deny him? Perhaps his presence might even help to sway Cinnabar into letting slip the name of the one that had tipped them off. If she had been otherwise intending on keeping it to herself, that is.

Porsha reached across him for a couple of clips that were resting on the bedside table so she could pin her hair back from her face. It was getting long, almost unruly. It was time to decide if she was actually considering growing it out, or finally getting it cut. Even still, it would probably be another couple of weeks before anything was done about it. She had far more important things to worry over. Things like getting Slate back on his feet, and making sure Jade had the training and know how she'd need to hold her own against Order.

As Slate moved to sit up the fighter reached out automatically to help him. One hand on his shoulder, the other at his side. Steadying him as his aching body adjusted to the movement. "If she's already had a taste of what we can offer, then a little gentle persuasion should help her on her way."

Sliding across the bed on her knees, Porsha climbed to her feet so she could help him to his. "Careful now." He might not have been terribly injured, but limbs weren't meant to be kept bond for long periods of time. She paused, though, at his question. Pale eyes widening a touch before her expression softened. The hand on his shoulder trailed up along the side of his neck to cup the curve of his cheek against her palm. Bending, she lay against against newly moistened lips. "Didn't have any intentions of leaving you alone." Smiling, she stroked her thumb over his cheek as she straightened again.

She'd wait for him sit at the edge of the bed, and when he was ready she'd steady him as he stood, slipping under his arm after so she could lend support on the way down the hall to the bathroom.

It was mindless, the soft trail of her hand along the arm that was draped across her shoulder. Comforting, or selfish, it was impossible to tell at this point. Had been for a while now. If one of her dears with close, than she was touching them in some way. It had never been something she'd thought to really consider, nor had anyone else, save perhaps Shale, but his had been a curious inquiry, rather than a critical one.

She had to think about his question, lips pursing as she reached back through her memory. And in fact, the mention of Thraen inspired only a small grunt of acknowledgement before he was apologizing. "Oh, it's alright." It was something that had happened, and she wasn't against discussing it, or him. "I've never been captured," she answered after a small pause, voice thoughtful. "But i have almost died before. If not for the quick action of a general, I would have been buried in a collapsing building. The captain with us at the time, he didn't make it." It certainly wasn't the same situation, but there had been a time when she hadn't been as capable as she was now. When she'd had to rely on the strength of others.

In the bathroom, Porsha turned to lean Slate up against the sink so she could fuss with the tap. Warmth would do his stiff body a world of good, but she had Epsom salt as well, and that would help it along. Pushing down the stopper, she turned on the water, then went for the medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of pills along with the small carton of salts.

"Bring her to our side is certainly preferable to any alternative. I'd much rather see potentially good soldiers fighting for us, rather than simply dealt with." Abs for the most part she meant this. There were a few--Theaen--that would have been powerful assets, that she would rather see dead. Preferably at her own hands.

Taking a seat in the edge of the tub, Po emptied the salts into the steaming water, then. Looked up. "Do you need help with the rest of your clothes?" There was enough water now to climb in.

Porsha smiled reassuringly up at him. "They'll feel a lot less sore after you've soaked them for a bit, trust me." This she knew from experience. Epsom salt was a God send. A knowing sort of smile would follow Slate's request for assistance, and she rose from her perch on the edge of the bath to reach for his sides, hands resting there a moment before slipping beneath the edge of his shirt. Warm against cooler hips. He hadn't warmed up yet, still a bit chilled from stone walls and stone floors. The bath would help with that, as well.

"Bring your arms up as high as you can. You can rest them on my shoulders if that helps." Smile still lingering, she started drawing the fabric upward slowly, waiting for him comply before bringing it all the up so she could work it over his head. From there it'd be easy. Gravity could take over once he lowered his arms.

He'd said he could probably manage pants on his own, but she'd seen how hard it had been for him to sit up. Bending was a chore. Without prompting she let her hands drop to the front of his jeans to pop the button and free the fly. It would have been so easy to make it something suggestive, but just this once it wasn't. She was kind and professional as she slid the denim and anything beneath it down his hips, kneeling as she went, and paused only once it was time for him to lift his feet out.

From there it would just be a matter of settling in the tub, which she'd be more than happy to help with.

"Are you hungry?" He probably was. "I can put something in the oven, so it'll be done when you've finished your bath." Something she wouldn't have to keep an eye on, so she could stay with him. "Or maybe thirsty?"

Pale eyes roved over his skin, but there was nothing hungry about the way she was looking at him. Nothing of the usual heat or covetous fire in those silver eyes. Instead they lingered on every bruise, every scrape, every small hint of damage on his lean body that had not been there before. Maybe it wasn't much visually, but there were deeper wounds that rested beneath the surface. Memories, and the awful ache in his limbs. They had hurt him, and she would see them suffer for it, every last one.

If she could not prevent, she would sure as hell rectify.

His voice, as he paused a little ways down the bathroom counter, pulled her back to the present, and she moved automatically to help him. Small fingers on his hip, at the crook of an arm, steadying him as he moved slowly to the bath. Holding on until he stepped inside. Supporting as he sank down in the steaming water. She wouldn't let him fall.

Settled, Porsha withdrew that strong touch, but only so she could reach for the tail of his braid. "Water it is." And maybe more, if his appetite began to creep back.

The girl took a seat on the edge of the tub near his head, and deftly removed the tie that held the end of the braid, letting it drop on the floor as she began to work bright hair from the messy weave.