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Rose kept a hand (which was a bit too cool and still shaking slightly with reaction) in Finn's uninjured one while the doctor worked, both for his comfort, hers, and to keep him from decking the man as she saw in his eyes. Dante's glare wasn't much more welcoming than Finn's, the tiny deer watching proceedings narrowly from the foot of the bed.

"Well, of course you are, but I'm the one looking after you, So I'm the one that needs to know." she consoled Finn. "I hear you, doctor. Stitch him up, I'll take care of the rest."

She kept Finn's hand safely restrained against her chest as the doctor worked, fortunately he was too busy and pressed to notice or care about the mildly unusual affection as it would appear to an outside observer; Rose was privately a little concerned that Finn might still try to hurt the harried fellow, and offering him even that small comfort eased her nerves.

Once Finn's wound was dressed and the doctor had scuttled out to go see to his other patients, Rose gave Finn's hand a squeeze and let him have it back, leaving the bedside briefly. She sat back down beside the wounded pirate with a damp cloth and started bathing the dirt and blood from his face with a gentle touch. "You'll sleep better if you aren't matted with blood," she explained.

"You scared the life out of me, you know. I thought..." She frowned and swallowed tightly, shaking her head slightly, as if denying the thought. "Well, nevermind. The doctor said you'd be alright in time. If you're hungry, I can see what's in the kitchen for you, but you should try to get some rest."

Unbeknownst to Rose, she was still pale between her reaction to the fight and her worry for Finn, but she was finding her stride again slowly now that things were looking less dire.

Once the interloper (the doctor) had gone, Dante went on a slow patrol around the room, his tiny hooves clicking on the wood floor except where the rug covered it. Satisfied that no threats were lurking, he flopped down on said rug with a sigh and promptly fell asleep; it had been a long and tiring day for the fawn.

Rose hadn't expected him to much appreciate her ministrations (certainly not in the mood he was in) so continued unperturbed as he attempted to flinch away. When he caught her hand she blinked, blue eyes a little wide in surprise at the intensity in his gaze.

"That you were going to die," she answered after a moment spent wondering where on earth this conversation was going. The words "handbasket" and "hell" sprang to mind, but honestly, with Finn, that was only to be expected. But... it wasn't quite right, was it? It wasn't just that she'd thought he'd die, which was bad enough...That... That I was going to lose you," she managed around the lump that returned to her throat all too quickly.

With her free hand, she fiercely dashed gathering tears from the corners of her eyes before they could spill. "Not that you aren't both irritating and a complete arse- and don't think I don't know it's intentional- but..." She bit her lip and looked away, forcing down the urge to sniffle. "I'd... I'd have missed you. Now hold still, you lump. You look like you went for a roll on a slaughterhouse floor."

Still trying to pretend she wasn't on the verge of tears (between the stress of a genuinely awful day and a building, bone-deep exhaustion and her nagging worry over the irritating pirate himself,) she attempted to resume her self-appointed cleaning duties.

A muscle jumped in Rose's jaw and her eyes flashed with annoyance at his needling. "Irresistable to fleas, perhaps" she muttered through clenched teeth, her cheeks coloring a bit. She never knew quite what to do with Finn- she shouldn't have been surprised that his reaction was childish sarcasm. Really she shouldn't. But... it still stung, and the fact that it did was proof enough that he wasn't wrong.

She did like him, mangy, murderous, intellectually stunted scallywag that he was. She'd be doomed out here without him, it was true, but the sense of impending loss she'd been bracing against as he lay semiconscious and bleeding in her arms had been well beyond that.

At least he was letting her get the blood off him. That was... something, she supposed. Seeing how much he'd lost in brilliant crimson against his skin was doing her nerves no favors. The doctor had gotten the worst of it off of his shoulder, but she finished mopping up the rusty stains on his hand, being as careful of his wound as she could.

"Let me be the first to assure you that you are the most vexing man I've ever met," she assured him as she worked, allowing the sting of his words to make her tone dispassionate. "Bar none. Now how does that feel? Better?" Damn her heart for caring, she thought with a resigned sigh. This could only end in tears. But...

He had saved her. The first time, when she'd been lost in the rain, had almost certainly been some manner of amusement on his part. But back on the Strumpet? That had been pure instinct. And the thought that there might...maybe be some good in him that he kept well hidden made her smirk a bit.

Rose licked lips gone suddenly dry at the abrupt shift in the mood of the room. Her heart was in her throat- as Finn had tucked his hand at the nape of her neck and she'd had the thought that maybe he meant to kiss her, she'd frozen in abject surprise. After the turn the conversation had just taken, she hadn't dreamt for a moment that he might have come to care for her as much as she had him.

Then the pause... and the question that could not have been more unexpected if he'd spoken a foreign tongue. "Wh... what?" she asked, blinking twice as her mind struggled to keep up with the sudden departure. "It... might have been... I don't know. What does it matter?"

Oh. Oh. Her eyes flashed in irritation (albeit mostly with herself) as she realized he hadn't meant to kiss her at all, he probably just wanted a closer look at her expression. He did seem to be having a little trouble focusing his gaze. With a slight shake of her head (Heavens- her governess had always been on about how undue stress could have an adverse affect on a delicate constitution, but really, outright hallucination seemed a bit much!) she gently retrieved his hand from the back of her head and held it securely in both of hers resting in her lap. Unconsciously, her thumb rubbed comforting circles on the back of his hand.

"It's alright, Finn. Just be easy," she assured him. "Think you could eat something? If you want, I can go find some food. Do you think you'll be alright here for a couple of minutes while I see what's in the kitchen?"

She smiled slightly and gave his hand a squeeze. She wasn't even slightly hungry, but she should probably eat something. "I'll see what I can do about the booze," she told him with half a chuckle, then carefully laid his hand back on the blankets and reached for a clean cloth which she dampened and laid across his brow to soothe him.

"Try not to get into too much trouble while I'm gone." she said as she stood and headed for the door. Dante, who had seemed to be sound asleep, heaved himself to his hooves and followed after her with a decidedly grumpy set to his ears.

****
Out in the hall, she closed the door behind her and sighed softly. It still felt odd sometimes, the weight of boots and the brush of men's trousers- the thought caused her to look down, and she felt herself blanch seeing the blood that stained her clothes- much of it was Finn's, but not all. Definitely not all...

She squeezed her eyes tight shut and swallowed hard against the taste of bile- there was no time for this, she had a job to do, dammit. The roundness of a small, fuzzy skull shoved into the cup of her hand completed her recovery as Dante gave her the reassurance of his presence. Giving her guardian a weak smile, she scratched behind his ears as he best liked and set off to find the kitchens....

... Which took rather longer than it should have as all the staff had been caught up, apparently, in dealing with the influx of the crew of the Hades' Strumpet wounded or otherwise. A bottle of rum was easy enough to come by, plucked from the clutches of one of the crew who had already drunk himself into a stupor in the inn's bar while trying to relieve the tensions of the day. It seemed the man had already gone through one bottle all on his own; this one was barely touched- apparently his day had been nearly as trying as her own.

Of course, given what was going on in the common room, she certainly couldn't blame the man. She found she wanted a drink herself after the glimpses she'd caught of what the good doctor was dealing with. For all that he'd nearly died, Finn had gotten off lightly.

Speaking of Finn, she wasn't entirely convinced that it was wise to give the incorrigible pirate alcohol in his weakened state, but he wanted it and it would help with the pain. And perhaps his disposition, though she rather doubted it.

After a bit more searching, she was finally able to locate the kitchen in an adjacent building, (which made sense, as it was blazing hot here away from the sea breeze and having the fire going did not help) and was relieved to find a pot bubbling away on the fire. The smell awakened a bit of her latent appetite, but on seeing it- rich, red broth and chunks of meat floating amid the vegetables- it fled again. She found herself bent at the waist with her hands on her knees, once again desperately trying to keep what little was left of her breakfast. She remained there for several long moments, just trying to breathe around the memories of the morning, until Dante bumped her in the hip and bleated demandingly.

"Yes, right, sorry, you've a nap to be getting back to," she sighed, but the small deer's interruption had helped to steady her somewhat. She frowned and looked at the flash of hurt she got from him. "Oh, were you just trying to help?" she asked, giving the fawn a small smile and petting his ears as he nuzzled into her hand. "I'm sorry. I should've known- you're never so selfish. Still, it's been a long day and you do need sleep." Mollified, Dante waggled his ears and nudged her hip again, and Rose returned to the task at hand.

Somehow, she managed to dish up a bowl of the stew and find a spoon without disgracing herself- mostly a matter of not looking at what she was carrying. She'd have to sooner or later, but for now, it worked and it was giving her a moment to get used to the idea. Bowl in one hand and bottle in the other and a bit paler than she'd been when she left, she made her way back to Finn's sickroom, looking immediately to see whether he was alright or if he'd fallen asleep in her absence.

She found a smile when he perked up to see her, his obvious pleasure at the prospect of a good meal (and more likely the rum, if she were honest) lifting her spirits as well. "The room's not on fire," she teased with a smirk. "I'm impressed."

At his words about the stew, though, her smile fell. She wanted to lie to him- just out of kindness, so he wouldn't worry while he was still so hurt. It was really nothing to worry about, after all. She even drew breath to say she'd eaten, but she couldn't do it. As annoying as he was, and as much as they'd been through, she'd never once lied to him, and starting now just seemed... wrong.

As the silence stretched out a little too long, she stood there silently berating herself, trying to tell him the kind lie. It wasn't until Dante bumped her hip, looking up at her worriedly, that she finally snapped out of it, shaking her head and laughing softly at herself. "I'm sorry, I couldn't. Stomach's still a little..." She made a waffling gesture with her hand in lieu of explaining and gave him a sheepish smile. "I'm fine though," she told him, trying to sound upbeat and convincing as she came to sit beside him on the bed, offering him the bowl of stew first. "Get some of that down you, then you can have your rum."

Honestly, the rum wasn't sounding half bad at the moment. She opened the bottle and took a swig before glancing to make sure he was eating.

Rose had been wincing a bit at the burn of the alcohol, though the rum was not -nearly- as bad as the cheap grog she'd had forced on her aboard the Hades' Strumpet. She squeaked in surprise when he yelled and the bottle was snatched from her hand. Eyes wide, she recoiled slightly, holding her hand (which stung a bit from the force with which the bottle had been removed) close to her chest. "What?!" she protested, her own voice raised a bit, though the slight tremble in it spoke less of anger than fear. "You drink it as often as you can! Why shouldn't I? Besides, Father often had a drink of an evening to help him relax, and there's a whole bar downstairs. It's not as if there isn't plenty to share," she said, her voice taking on a note of complaint at his accusation.

She rubbed her hand, trying to ease the sting of his rough handling while she tried to steady her breathing, and found that she couldn't. Her heart was racing in her chest, and she discovered to her displeasure that she was beginning to tremble. As she tried to find words to explain why she'd wanted a drink that wouldn't upset him any more than he already was she felt like her chest was constricting, squeezing the air out of her lungs worse than a corset.

"It's just... it hasn't been the best day..." she managed as she curled against the footboard much as he was curled against the headboard, drawing her knees to her chest as she tried to keep herself from shaking apart. The images of what she'd endured- the light leaving the eyes of the first man she'd killed (she'd killed. Killed!), seeing Finn take hurt, the resistance- not nearly as much as she'd envisioned, as she'd killed again (this time by choice! Ye Gods!)- danced macabrely on her eyelids as she closed them and rested her head on her arms to try and keep herself contained.