MOVED TO FEVERGROW.

He’s been terrified, ever since Lebi told him. Terrified of what the cure means for them all, convinced by his deep-seated distrust of those administering it (whether it is real or not) that the primary thing it will achieve is dividing the Lost - placing those who crave it in opposition with those who don’t feel they stand to gain anything from beginning to age again. It probably doesn’t take a genius to figure out which side of that particular fence Strat is firmly standing on, but that doesn’t mean he can’t understand the other perspective.

That’s really what he’s the most afraid of, though. He’s afraid for his friends, afraid of how much hope this will have ignited in so many of them. He is afraid of losing them, and of how many ways he could lose them thanks to this.

And now he’s here, in the building that stands as a towering monument to everything they’ve fought against and everything that’s happened to them, that now houses so many of their number. One he’d been aching to find a way into, not so long ago; the boy who once snuck through the windows of Falco Towers now stands outside the doors of one of its rooms, hesitating.

His relationship with Zahara has been complicated to say the least, and they’ve been so many things to one another. But he has unwaveringly adored her for so long, and losing her would be more devastating than he’s capable of putting into words.

Finally finding the nerve that once seemed to be such an intrinsic part of him, he lifts a hand to knock on the door - but then changes his mind just as his knuckles are about to come into contact with the wood and pushes it open instead, peeking around it.

“Zahara?”

    SHE  HAS  FELT  THE    weight  of  the  world  on  her  shoulders  for  quite  some  time  now.   zahara  has  adjusted  to  this  newfound  position  of  power,  if  one  dared  to  call  it  that,  and  strat’s   DISAPPEARANCE   that  granted  her  the  role.   for  the  past  few  months,  it  has  been   routine   for  her  to  feel  like  the  overall  fate  of  the  lost  was  on  her.   she  figures  that  after  months  of  serving  as  one  of  the   TELEPHONE  LINES   between  the  lost  and  the  falcos,  this  is  her  vacation.   what  a  stressful  rest  it  is. 

   ZAHARA  IS  AWARE  THAT    she’s  one  of  the  lucky  ones.   she  practically  had  a  job  while  lost,  leaving  her  future  in  a  better  hands  than  most  of  the  others.   she  has  the  skills  and  tenacity  to   kick  it   in  the  corpse  of  a  society  that  is  their  island.   the  cure  was  a  much   SIMPLER   decision  for  her.   this  is  why  she  felt  the  need  to  go   first,   to  be  their,  as  blake  had  put  it,  test  subject.   it  wasn’t  an  inaccurate  claim,  but  it  didn’t  ease  her  nerves  any.   overall,  it  is  the  lost  that  she’s  looking  out  for  above  her  own  self,  and  she  sincerely  believes  that  aging  is  their  best  option.   if  all  of  them   (  or  the   MAJORITY  of  them  )   chose  a  path  that  would  allow  them  to   develop   in  a  developing  world,  they  would  still  be  able  to  stick  together.   obsidian  was  thrown  on  its  head  the  second  strat  and  gibson  had  decided  to  place  their  affections  where  they  were   not  allowed.   things  were  changing,  and  she  wasn’t  about  to  let  them  get  left  behind.

   TO  SETTLE  IN  THEIR    roll  as  the  oppressed,  the  feared  would  have  been  the  easy  thing  to  do.   if  she  had  just  opted  out  of  the  cure,  she  wouldn’t  be  stuck  in  bed  now.   though  not  a   SHELL  of  her  former  self,  zahara  is  in  no  way  ready  to  throw  on  her  boots  and  strut.   every  muscle  in  her  body  aches,  and  her  eyes  are  heavy  with   fatigue.    she  feels  her  stomach  beginning  to  betray  her   -   a  sign  that  after  twenty  five  years,  it  may  finally  be  that   TIME  OF  THE  MONTH   again.   laying  there,  she  attempts  to  see  it  as  a  positive.   the  cure  is  working.   the  cure  will  work  for  her  family. 

   UNTIL  THE  DOOR  CREAKS    open,  zahara  is  alone,  having  sent  bowman  off  to  check  on  others  so  she  can  meet  with  strat  uninterrupted.   his  voice  nearly   REVITALIZES   her,   especially  since  the  first  melody  she  hears  roll  of  his  tongue  is  her  name.   it  is  then  that  she  has  to  mentally   halt   herself   -    the  days  of  him  giving  her  butterflies  are   LONG   gone  now.    never  before  did  she  think  they  would  be  in  a  situation  like  this,   lights  dimmed  as  she  lays  ill  in  a   falco  towers  bed  across  from  him.   still,  zahara  manages  to  boil  things  down  to  the  simple  fact  that  she  is   unbearably  happy   to  see  him.     it  has  been  much  too  long.  

It’s almost funny, how so many of them have fallen into playing specific roles within their group - whether that’s as simple as being the ones who are still cracking jokes, or it’s something bigger like the role Zahara has taken up. While she’s not the only one of them with medical expertise, she is arguably the most qualified and organised of them all. It’s no single trait of hers that makes her so invaluable, though, it’s… Everything about her.

It’s not just the group she’s invaluable to either - it’s him. Among so many other things, she’s rational where he’s impulsive, considering her actions where he would run headfirst into a situation (and into trouble, most likely), and he knows she’s tempered his response to things on more than one occasion already whether she’s intended to or not. Running alongside that is the almost unspoken acknowledgement that they each know the other has chosen to be one of the strong ones, to protect the others in their own ways, and the understanding that they’ll achieve that better as a team, of sorts, than as individuals.

He’s a little in awe of her, truth be told.

Strat doesn’t need prompting more than once to sit beside her. When he does, he’s close - his shoulder brushing against hers as he settles into place - and there’s a bright (if tired) smile there for her when he replies. “Then thanks for not saying it.”

When she leans back he shifts his own position a little, angling himself more towards her, crossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees as he steeples his hands so that he can rest his head against them - turned in her direction, of course, so that he can watch her.

Unlike her, it’s not unusual for him to be up half the night (or simply to still be up when the early risers make their presence known in the mornings). That’s nothing new for him, really, but rather than killing nights hiding in whatever 24-hour fast food place he can find that won’t kick him out, now he tends to spend the time learning his way around the place they’re not quite calling home yet - or sitting with one of the others when they find sleep evading them. He’s not exactly upset that Zahara is the one he’s sitting up with, tonight.

“I should be asking you the same question.” Absolutely not an answer, he knows - and he knows she probably won’t let him off with not giving her one, either.

    SHE  HAS  TO  ACCEPT    that  she  is  prone  to   taking  charge   in situations  like  this.   she  is  a  plan  maker,  a  logical  thinker,  and  a  stable   VOICE   to  heed  when  the  going  gets  rough.   when  the  explosions  ransacked  their  party,  the  party  she  had  gone  to  so  she  could  escape  her   methodical   thinking  for  one  night,  zahara  expected  that  she  would  be  the  one  to  step  up  and   REGROUP   the  ragtag  group  of  survivors.   maybe  she  had  helped  with  that,  as  no   one  person   could  do  that  on  their  own,  but  she  had  also  severely   UNDERESTIMATED   a  certain  blonde  haired  boy  in  the  process.

   STRAT  IS  NOTHING  LIKE    the  boy  she  initially  had  him  pinned  for.   upon  first  meeting  him  some  time  before  that  wretched  night,  zahara   (  or  zephyrine,  at  the  time.  )    has  to  admit  that  she  didn’t  think  much  of  him.   he  was  just   another  boy,  another  addition  to  their  friend  group,  and  one  she  would  hold  conversations  with  when  she  wanted  to   RUN   her  mouth.   but,  just  as  zahara  is  different  from  zephyrine,  strat  is  different  from  james.   if  anyone  else  had  fallen  into  the  leadership  role,  she  doubts  she  would  have  been  as   WILLING   to  drop  back  into  the  part  she  has  now  made   her  own.   something  about  him  is  compelling.   no  one  who  knows  him  now  can  dispute  that.   and  there’s  an  extra  layer  of  magnetism  to  him  that  can  move  mountains,  the   TALLEST   one  being  her.

   (  not  even  the  explosion  had  rocked  her  as  much  as  the   POTENTIAL   she  saw  in  him.  )

   HE  HAS  BECOME  MORE    to  her  than  she  had  ever  expected.   zephyrine  was  never  one  to  dwell  on  her  love  life.   at  that  time,  when  her   biggest  worry   was  what  college  she  would  be  attending,  she  saw  the  trouble  of   DATING   to  be  completely  irrelevant.   she  would   MUCH   rather  have  a  straight  a  transcript  than  a  boyfriend,  especially  one  that  would   hold  her  back   when  it  came  to  reaching  her  goals.   and  yet,  she  has  found   ZAHARA   to  be  somewhat  of  a  flirt.    even  subconsciously. 

  THE  THOUGHT  OF  HAVING    actual  feelings  for  someone  after  all  this  time  is  enough  to  make  her  stomach  lurch.   day  after  day,  she  keeps  it   casual,   her  mind  coming  up  with  scenarios  to   ENTERTAIN   her  with  throughout  the  day.   maybe  zahara  has  a  slight   crush,   or  maybe  she  just  has  a  worthwhile  distraction. 

Truthfully, he’s not really sure how he’s ended up as their leader, not with her around.

If you asked him, he’d swear that with all of her steadiness and determination, Zahara could probably tell someone to do just about anything and they’d comply without question. She’s the sort of person you trust instinctively, and you keep trusting her; she’s as fierce as she is gentle, witty and sharp and beautiful - like the blueprint for a heroine in one of his mother’s stories. And with all of that in mind, she may well offer one of the clearest examples of just how devastating the consequences of their unexpected fate are.

Maybe it’s that line of thinking that means he’s been keeping an eye on her (as surreptitiously as possible, because he’s not entirely sure that’s something she’ll appreciate). It’s easy to pay attention to those who’re wearing their grief and trauma and anger for the world to see, and it’s easier to know how to try and help them. But he worries about the ones who seem to be coping better just as much, in part because he too is learning what it’s like to tread the paper thin line between pushing your own feelings aside so as to better care for others, and trying to come to terms with things for your own sake.

He watches as her profile becomes obscured by shadows and half-hidden by her hair when she turns her hair, searching what he can see of her expression as though it’ll give him a clue as to what she needs to hear right now. She might be strong, but even now she’s still only human.

“Well, at least your first instinct wasn’t to call me a hypocrite,” His half-smile is rueful, but it’s there all the same. “Or if it was, at least that’s not the response you went with.”

    WHEN  THINGS  GROW  TO    seem  hopeless,  which  can  be  a  sometimes  -  daily  occurance,   she  tends  to  remind  herself  that  she  is  an  essential  piece  in  the  puzzle  that  makes  up  the  lost.   yes,  she  is  aware  of  this  even  on  her  good  days,  but  a   REMINDER   never  hurts.   she  is  rarely  seen  too  far  from  strat,  as  he’s  grown  on  her  more  and  more  each  day  since  she’s  met  him,  or  the   supplies   she’s  managed  to  salvage  to  keep  her  makeshift  medical  bay  in  business.   zahara  knows  that  she  has  the  respect,  the  loyalty,  of  nearly   EVERY   member  of  the  lost.   she  considers  this  a  greater  feat  than  any  title.   they  need  her,  and  she  needs  them

    SHE  OFTEN  WALKS  ATOP    the  line  that  separates  business and  pleasure.   while  she  was  able  to  find  a  happy  medium  between  the  two  when  she  had  a  schedule  for  school  and  a  dependable  pantry  always  stocked  with  food,   she  finds  it  incredibly  hard  now  to  decide  when  to  be   SERIOUS   and  when  to  indulge  in  those  of  them  who  are  sillier  in  light  of  the  circumstances.    (  her  guess  is  the  ones  who  joke  know  no  other  way  to  cope.  )    this  is  why  when  the  night  rolls  around,   zahara  indulges  in  being  tired.   when  they  all  find  themselves  planted  across  the  deep  end  in  various  packs  after  a  long  day,   there  isn’t  as  much  pressure  to  be  anything  but   TIRED.    now,  if  only  she  could  rest.

   MOST  NIGHTS,  SHE’S  EARLY    to  sleep  and  early  to  rise.   this  sleep  pattern  remains  one  of  the  things  she  has  carried  with  her  into  being  lost.   zahara  knows  he  has  to  rest  as  well,  but  as  their  conversation  is  proving,  that’s  a  fear  much  easier   SAID   than  done.   with  a  small  chuckle,   she  scoots  to  the  side,  patting  the  spot  next  to  her  for  him  to  sit.     she  won’t  mind  losing  sleep  if  this  is  how  she  spends  her  time.

He’s still not quite used to calling her Zahara - but then, in the grand scheme of ‘things they’ve all got to get used to now’, he figures adapting to his friends’ new names is pretty much at the bottom of the list. Everyone is still brittle, still stumbling through what their lives have become and trying to find… Anything to cling to that makes even the tiniest bit of sense.

That goes for the ones of them who’re trying to hold it together for everyone else, too. Maybe it’s because he was the first one to make that choice, but in the quiet moments it’s easy for him to notice when the strong ones are having trouble hiding what they’re feeling.

He’ll claim that he can’t imagine what it must’ve been like, to try going home afterwards - but then, he’d severed ties with his family days before the party, so he knows his situation was different to hers. If he dwells on this for too long (if he’s honest), he starts thinking about his mother - never his father, never David; just her. He wonders what she’d say, if he went back to her now, and then… Then he’ll throw himself at any other thought, because he can’t think about that. Not on top of everything else.

But he can focus on the others. He can focus on Zahara when he finds her sitting alone, when he can tell what expression she’s wearing even in the near-darkness of their surroundings. He sits down beside her without waiting for invitation of acknowledgement.

“Get some sleep.” It’ll be a while yet before this boyish earnestness becomes a rare thing, so if there’s concern audible in his words, or visible in his features, it’s sincere.

      SHE  HAS  DECIDED  TO    be  one  of  the  strong  ones.    not  that  the  rest  of  them  haven’t  earned  that  title  just  by   surviving   the  explosions,   but  to  let  things  slip  in  between  her  fingers  now  would  be  a  goddamn  tragedy.    all  her  life,  she  has  always  been  in  some  form  of   CONTROL.    from  a  very  young  age,  zephyrine  akenzua  had  a   strict   idea  of  who  she  wanted  to  be  and  how  she  would  achieve  her  goals.   to  say  the  least,  being  caught  in  the  tunnels  was  a  setback,  but  that  didn’t  mean  she  had  to  give  up   ALL   of  who  she  was.    had  she  shed  her  birthname  ?   yes,  but  that  drive  to  succeed  and  heal  stayed   intact   within  her.

     STILL,  NO  MATTER  HER   decisions,  no  matter  who  their  circumstances  force  her  to  become,  she  will  always  be  her   mother’s  daughter.   she  will  always  carry  imani’s  determination,   along  with  the  happiness  she  felt  when  her  father  would  come  home  after  a  long  day  of  work.   no   EXPLOSION,   no  matter  how  massive,  could  wipe  those  memories  away.    that’s  what   ultimately   makes  it  so  hard  for  her  to  settle  now.  the  fact  that  somewhere,  her  parents  are  asleep  without  her  in  the  room  over,  and  that  she  never  returned  her  advanced  placement  anatomy  and  physiology  textbook  she   PROMISED   to  hand  back  in.

   AND  NOW  THEY’VE  ALL    been  left  as  sitting  ducks.   the  muffled   sobs   and  moans  of  companions  new  and  old  keep  her  awake,  and  keep  her  so   CLOSE   to  the  ground  that  she  grows  aware  of  strat’s  presence  before  he  even  enters  her  line  of  sight.