heaven help the fool who falls in love

𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐞 

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gil forces the slightest of smiles in an attempt to match her. “well, tell them to pull their weight then. baby’s first shot, should bring in some beginner’s luck, no?” the near deceit is short lived, and they return to the serious business at hand. gilbert always thought he was quite the counterproductive clog in the cage machine. they fix, he breaks. sometimes literally - he can immediately recall a trespasser well over a decade ago, gilbert dragging him in bleeding, katya dressing the bullet hole gil left behind on the stranger. he was interrogated and let out, died some years back on patrol. sometimes they have fixed in other ways. the cabinet gilbert kicked broken in his room, kenneth picking up pieces from the floor and his skin. he envies them often, envies the righteousness of their role. he told them as much sometimes. in the first couple of years, trying with little and many words to tell katya and kenneth that i’m not like you. maybe i could have been, but i’m not now. it’s too late to patch me up, it’s all healed wrong, but it’s healed. and i’ll break it back open anyway. 

he thinks of kenneth, his voice so superficial in his head now. is this what he would have wanted? perhaps gilbert should have taught him something too. it wasn’t lack of skill that got him killed, it was me. gilbert paces around her as she stands still, heartbeat loud in his ears, swallowing down the memories of jackson. it can’t happen again. “there’s nothing to apologize for.” he replies only moments later, in the deep set silence. he considers saying more. ophelia should stand still and silent, and gilbert could simply talk. the confessional stands right in front of him, there’s a million things he’s kept right under his tongue lately. but here she is, apologizing, trying, carrying the weight of her world on her shoulders, and gilbert finds himself wasting the opportunity after opening his mouth a few times and no words coming out. instead, he just keeps walking around her, gun tightly on his hand, kicking up a few pebbles. perhaps this isn’t quite the military drill, more of a meditation-prone reset. it doesn’t have the atmosphere of fear. 

after a deep breath, gilbert moves towards her again and digs the bullet out of his pocket, loading the gun. the soldier hands it to her at last - no more aiming, no more training. “be careful, now. go.” gilbert stands a few steps away from her, but the moment ophelia raises her arms to aim, he quickly steps in front of her, halfway between the target and the barrel. he moves fast, without much warning. “before you commit, though, remember. this is the responsibility you accept when you load your gun.” he deviates from the fedra teachings now. his hands are up, as if she will shoot regardless. “people move, you shoot someone by accident. could have shot me. it’s different from stabbing with a scalpel.” he steps just a bit closer to her. “keep the gun high.” his breathing is loud, as if the danger is real. “maybe you would have to shoot. a room full of people? you have the gun, it’s your job. say you were with me at the mall. you, me and a few other people barricade inside a room. someone saw my injuries, assumed the worst. they don’t have guns. but you? oh, you’ve got one loaded and ready to go.” he stares at the metal rather than her, slowly moving towards it even more. “it’s not just knowing how to aim. you take on a duty. if you can’t do it, your gun is useless. so…” gilbert moves until the metal is near grazing his clothes, and he finally looks at her. “are you shooting or not?”

her gaze steadies on the target in front of her.  she tries to balance against the counterweight, the gun cold and heavy in her hands.  her finger wraps around the trigger, a careful breath leaving her lips as she prepares herself for the kickback.  before she can shoot, gil is in front of her.  she gasps, the gun quickly pulled back towards her chest as she glares in his direction.  “gilbert!” she yells, her voice loud with a genuine anger.  “what the fuck!”  her hands almost tremble around the grip as her brain tries to comprehend how easily she could have killed him.  his voice is near disciplinary.  in this moment he is not her friend, he’s her older brother, her teacher.  she listens reluctantly, returning the gun to it’s original position as he steps closer to her, though refusing to place her finger on the trigger out of fear that she will flinch and send a bullet through his chest.  ophelia listens to every word, her eyes narrowed and cross.  “this isn’t fucking funny, gil,” she snaps, though she knows no part of him is joking.  “you can’t tell me to shoot and then stand in front of the gun to teach me some fucking lesson.” she was angry, panicked.  one second later and he could be bleeding out on the floor.  the barrel is practically pressed against him now and her eyes don’t leave his stare.  she doesn’t want to answer the question, she doesn’t even want to consider it.  of course, she knows a gun is a lot of responsibility, but she doesn’t want the image in her brain.  their eyes are locked on each other now.  “if i knew it was too late for you, if i was out of options,” she says, her gaze unwavering.  “i wouldn’t want you to become one of those things.  i love you too much to let that be your fate.  alright?  is that what you want to hear?”  she’s irked by his recklessness but she understands what he’s trying to do.  he means well, she knows it.  he wants her to be strong, and she wants that for herself too. “now move, before i shoot you for real.” she gestures right with the gun, her eyes still watching him.

ophelia readies the gun towards the target once again.  she takes a deep breath, she tries to focus.  as she stares down the barrel, she speaks again, her eyes staying trained forward despite her words being directed at gil.  “and me?” she asks.  “if it was me in that room, bitten, scratched- would you pull the trigger?”  she’s sure she already knows the answer, but she poses the question anyway.  perhaps it’s a bit of revenge, to force him to imagine the same scenario he’s just presented to her.  but there’s another motive as well.  “i told mara to,” she admits for the first time.  the conversation with the doctor had been private, she hadn’t spoken of it to anyone until now.  “when we were in the mall.  i found her- we were hiding together for awhile.  i told her if anything happened to me- i told her to take out the baby.  and i know you’re not a doctor, but i need you to promise me you’ll do the same.”  she doesn’t look over at him yet, she doesn’t try to gauge his reaction, she just talks.  she just needs to get it out.  “and i mean- when they’re out.  if there’s ever a choice, you protect the child, you understand me?  it’s them over me, every time.”  finally, she turns her head, her eyes serious if not a bit desperate.  there is no part of her that could survive after losing her child.  perhaps no part of her that would want to.  “promise me.”

Phee. She’s real, she’s alive, she’s not bit. She’s not bit. She’s okay. She won’t be okay if she stays here. He - he scared her. He never wanted to scare her. He should tell her to go, but as long as he’s holding onto her, he knows she’s safe. 
 
 He should help her out. He should find Marsie. He doesn’t know what the fuck he should do anymore. “No bites.” He hasn’t checked himself. It didn’t matter. She matters more. He leans back from the touch, like he’s been electrocuted. “Fought a Runner. I’m fine, but - don’t touch.”
 He’s not a scientist, and he doesn’t give a shit about his own life, but he’s not going to gamble with Phee’s. If he’s gonna die, he’s gonna fucking die, whatever, but not before he makes sure everyone else makes it out safe.


When he does lean back, he can see more of the state she’s in. “…whose blood is it? Fuck, there’s so fucking much of it, Phee.” She’s covered in it, like she tried to save someone who was beyond help…

he jerks back from her hand and ophelia stares at him with a sadness in her eyes.  the blood on his face- his hands.  the last time she’d seen him like this he’d just lost everything.  he was broken from the inside out.  how the fuck did this happen, how did they get here?  “okay, okay,” she says, hoping he was right, hoping there wasn’t a bite on him somewhere that he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel with all the adrenaline pumping through him.

he looks at her, she knows he’s looking at the blood.  “it’s-” she doesn’t know how to answer the question.  there is so much racing through her mind she can hardly think straight enough to come up with a story.  a part of her doesn’t even have the energy to lie- but she thinks of eddie.  she thinks of the blood of his father that once soaked through her hands not unlike how mike’s did now.  “i tried to save someone- i was too late.”  a half lie, she hadn’t really tried.  there wasn’t much use.  “it’s not infected blood, i swear,” she tries to reassure him.  “please just trust me.  and promise me you won’t ask questions, okay?”  there is a pleading look in her eyes.  “let’s just get out of here and get cleaned up, we can talk about it later.”  another half lie- because she isn’t sure she’ll ever tell him the whole truth.  partly to protect eddie, yes, but also partly to protect him.  there doesn’t need to be another person wrapped up in all of it.  “please.”

How is it possible, for someone in this place to hold such innocence? Daiyu cannot begin to grasp it, the reality Ophelia lives in — they had grown up side by side, and there were horrors they had surely both seen when they were too young to see them, but still. The knife passes from one hand to another and she cannot get stuck on thinking of it, the differences between their hands alone. Her violent ones compared to Ophelia’s healing ones. As if there’s room for hands in this world not stained by certain violence. As if it isn’t a matter of time before Ophelia would have to make her hands something violent too, if she wanted to survive.

Daiyu realises she’s worried about her. A bit angry, too, that somehow Ophelia had ended up this sheltered, this inexperienced — not because it was unfair, but because it made her ill-prepared. It made her panic, made her forgetful, as if those were things to permit oneself to be. “You should be carrying, then, at all times. I’ll get you something, okay? Something to make sure you always have something on you.” How was that not yet a reality? Daiyu feels herself grow heavy with worry, if only because it’s not an emotion that fits her well. It’s Ophelia who’s more of the caretaking sort, and here she is, making the decision to take Ophelia out with her sometime, force her to hold a gun, steal an ankle holster and a knife for her. In a way, yes, she does judge her for her innocence, for the naivete — but more herself, too, for letting it be. 

Because how can it be? A person who has never seen an infected? It really is impossible to grasp and Daiyu stares at her. She’s not sure if she’s envious or filled with dread. “Well, this is a shit way to get acquainted with them.” The statement is dry even if it is true. They’re easier to handle when drowsy and anonymous, when they aren’t rushing through a building that is a supposed sanctuary. “It’s harder, like this. When they’re this recently turned. They’re recognisable. But —” Daiyu shakes her head. “Not important now, okay? You’re alright.” And she has to face them, one day. She opens her mouth to say something else, before halting abruptly. There’s a scrambling noise around a corner, in what seems to have been a hairdresser’s. She steps forward, pushes Ophelia behind her: “Shit.”

amidst the fear and adrenaline that races through her, there is a sadness too.  as she looks at daiyu, she sees the little girl she knew.  maybe never equals, but they once ran around on a much more level playing field.  they grew up in the wake of a war, they were only children.  maybe daiyu was never innocent, ophelia doesn’t know how young the other was when she first held a weapon or had to use it.  but she looks at her old friend and she feels sorrow, she feels pain.  because daiyu deserved a soft life too. “right, thank you.”  the nurse knows that most people in the qz carried weapons, it’s more surprising to find someone who doesn’t.  someone like ophelia.  it isn’t that she’s unfamiliar with them, gil had made sure she knew how to load a gun and pull the trigger.  but she’s never shot one, not really.  she’s never felt like she had a target on her back, never been outside the walls.  this- it’s an awakening.  she won’t make this mistake again.  “yeah,” she feels sick come up her throat as the memory of the runner’s face being blown apart in front of her flashes again in her mind.  “i just- i’ve never been out there, you know?  i’ve always been here- my whole life i’ve always been inside.  and they-” if there was one thing she could count on alexei volkov for, it was keeping the infection out of their home.  though she supposes now, that’s gone too.

the enforcer moves in front of her and ophelia looks in the direction that has caught her attention.  what she sees makes her heart stop, her breath catch in her throat.  her hand flies to cover her mouth to muffle the cry that escapes her before she can stop it.  her fingers tremble against the skin of her face.  “daiyu,” it’s just a whisper, but the devastation in her voice still comes through.  what they see not far in the distance is a runner, recently turned.  but it’s not the visible infection that startles her- it’s their age.  what’s in front of them is a child, a small girl, she can’t be more than eight or nine.  her hair is still in braids.  in a moment of mercy, ophelia hopes her parents were not spared by this outbreak- that they too are shells of their former selves.  it’s not something she’s ever found herself wishing before, but now she cannot imagine a life after losing a child.  she thinks that maybe, it’s better to know they all went together.  can she say they’re in a better place?  she’s heard people say that, marsie has said it in the infirmary after a few particularly hard losses.  she’s never really believed it before, but maybe now she has to.  it’s the only way she can look at this baby in front of her and not break apart on the floor below her.

full name: maxym oliver valentine // status: deceased

people smile and tell me i'm the lucky one

your birth is bittersweet.  a beautiful healthy baby is born into a terribly ugly world, but your mother does not survive.  from your very first day it’s just you and your father.  he’s a capable man, he grew up hunting and camping.  he teaches you everything he knows.  he shows you how to survive off of the land, how to use nothing but your senses.  you grow up loved but lonely.  your father isn’t a trusting man and all he wants to do is keep you safe.  so you bounce from place to place, you never stay for too long.  you don’t make connections, you don’t grow roots.  all you have is each other.  

one day you make camp.  you’ve done it a thousand times, you know what to do.  but something is wrong.  your father wakes you up in a frenzy, you have to move.  there are runners, two of them.  perhaps they were once a couple.  it doesn’t matter now, all that matters is now they’re after you.  your father fights them off, he protects you.  you make it out.  you’ve lost some of your supplies  but you’ve made it out, everything is okay.  then your father stops you.  he has a bite on his arm.  he looks at you, he wraps his hands around your face and wipes away your tears.  he gives you his knife and his pack and he tells you to run.  you don’t want to leave him, he’s all you’ve ever known.  he doesn’t take no for an answer.  your tired legs carry you into the unknown.  you’re sixteen.

i'm so in love with you, honey

a lost boy.  for a while you wander scared, helpless.  you use the skills your father taught you to survive in the wilderness by yourself.  but soon you find a community.  it’s strange, having a room to call your own.  a part of you likes it, likes having a bit of consistency.  you become a soldier and it gives you a purpose.  you make a few friends, they help with the grief.  despite the horrors you’ve seen, you have the miraculous ability to remain an optimist.  there is a young girl who works in the infirmary, she patches you up a few times.  you’ve always been clumsy.  she’s kind, beautiful, brilliant, and you find yourself wanting nothing more than to make her smile.

one day you’re working on a lookout.  it’s a day like any other, you joke with your coworkers, you mess around a bit too much.  you make a wrong move and you tumble feet below.  you’ve always been clumsy, but this time the result is a fractured leg and bruised ribs.  your supervisor, an old friend, sends you to the hotel med bay.  a favor in kind, she knows a certain gentle nurse with golden hair works there.  in the weeks it takes you to recover she sits at your bedside.  she reads you her favorite books.  you learn the missing pieces of the fractured fairy tales your father tried to tell you growing up.  in return you entertain her with stories of the outside world.  you live every day for her.  when you’re healed, there isn’t a single piece of you that wants to leave.  you start missing a few shifts, your leg is still sore and you much prefer helping out around the infirmary.  

now i see a family where there once was none

when the new year comes, so does a new surprise.  a baby.  you hadn’t planned it and you’re scared out of your mind.  the very thing that killed your mother could now take the life of the person who means most to you in the world.  she reassures you everything will be alright.  her mother has helped others in the zone through the process- you both are in good hands.  the thought of having a family- putting down roots for the first time in your life, it’s exciting.  you’ve never had a that before.  you live at her home more than your own.  you eat meals together, you take care of each other.  you’re happy.

but your negligence catches up to you.  a punishment is brought forth, your patrol has changed.  now you have an outside route.  you work double shifts every day.  you come home ragged and barely get enough sleep to refresh for the morning.  she tries to take care of you, she tries to keep you fed and warm, but it’s not enough.  you only get weaker.   one day, when your back is turned, it's all over.

in the end, perhaps you’ll always be a lost boy.  the boy who will never grow up.  you leave behind your golden-haired nurse and your unborn child.  she feels lost without you.  for awhile, her mind is not her own.  she misses work, she lays in bed.  her nightmares return, in the night she calls for you but you can’t reach her.  but it’s alright, she has her mother, her brother.  they save her.  you know she’ll be okay, she was always the strong one.  

playlist –– danny’s song by loggins & messina // rose colored boy by paramore // strange magic by electric light orchestra // yellow by coldplay // teenage dream by stephen dawes // beautiful boy by john lennon // paper rings by taylor swift

ophelia x tiktok trends

One minute he’s guiding Jesse out, and the next he’s tackled to the ground. The breath of a Runner against his face, as he desperately pushes its teeth away from his throat. This is how they died, their hearts beating their last out of their chests like his is, now. Motherfucker won’t get him, too, not until he finds Marsie. He rolls to the side, pushes the runner down until he’s the one pinning it to the ground. Smashes its skull against the hard floor, once, twice, three times - until it stops moving. Matty sits back, chest heaving, hands covered in blood, hands shaking - and more of them screaming.



 He has to go. Go! Matty stumbles to his feet, away from the sounds, to where it’s quieter. It’s closer to the infirmary. Closer to Marsie. There’s nobody here. Why is there nobody here? What if they’re all dead? What if he’s too late?





If he lets himself think like that, he will be. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, but, he can’t go before he knows the people he has left are okay. Marsie, Daiyu, Ophelia, Eva, Nik - Nik, who’s still looking for his cowardly ass. He keeps dragging himself forward, every step heavy with trepidation about what’ll be before him next. It’s - it’s - Ophelia, practically crashing into him, as bloodied as he is. He grabs her shoulders, wide eyes scanning her for injuries. 



Please, fuck, no, not Phee. Pedro never asked him for anything, except this, keep her safe, and he couldn’t even do that. “Phee, fuck, Phee - tell me you’re not bit.”

.

her feet carry her forward before her mind can direct her where to go.  perhaps there is a bit of her that’s in shock, watching people die never really gets easier.  she’s moving directionless.  she needs to listen to her surroundings, she needs to find safety.  but everything in front of her feels like a blur.  before she can stop herself she’s colliding into another body.  she yelps out of instinct, but looks up and sees matty, his eyes wild and his face bloody.  despite his startling appearance there is a sense of relief.  he’s trembling as much as she is, the fear in his face is apparent.

“i’m fine matty, i’m alright, no bites,” her hands grip his arms attempting to ground the both of them.  “it’s okay, it’s not my blood.”  ophelia tries to catch her breath, she focuses on the feeling of matty’s shirt under her fingers, the sensation of the tile floor under her feet.  “i don’t- i don’t even know what happened.  i just ran i- i wasn’t thinking, i just ran.” her eyes run over him, checking him for injuries of his own.  “what about you, are you alright?” one hand lifts to his face, her thumb gently wipes away the blood near his eyes hoping it isn’t his.  

Mara holds up her hand as Ophelia attempts to draw nearer, gesturing from herself to the other woman, indicating that she’d come closer. The crunch of glass underfoot makes her wince but she presses forward until she’s sinking to the ground beside Ophelia. The doctor glances over her, clinical and to the point as she inspects the other woman for any sign of serious injury. “I’m fine,” she utters a breath of a whisper, her thoughts with Felix whom she’d tried to warn via radio before seeing the infected. She only hopes he managed to pass along the word to Teddy and does her best not worry. 

“They’ll be okay,” she nods softly, giving Ophelia’s hand an encouraging squeeze. Even saying it aloud gives Mara hope that it’s true. “I didn’t but that doesn’t mean anything.  I’m sure he’s fine. ” She hasn’t seen a lot of people, consumed with avoiding the infected who she knows will be creeping to this part of the mall in a matter of minutes. “Not hurt but are you alright?” she casts a meaningful glance at Opie’s stomach, “do you have any weapon?” as a follow up, Mara holding up one of her switchblades and reaching for her second, in case her friend didn’t. “We’re going to need to move soon. I don’t want us to get blocked in.” Especially since this store was towards the end of the corridor, with less access points to the rest of the mall.

.

“right, right.  they’ll be okay.  they’ll all be okay,” ophelia mimics mara’s feigned certainty, attempting to convince herself.  “we’re alright,” mara is her friend, but she’s also her doctor.  she’s been with her for every step of her pregnancy.  opie gives her a reassuring nod, trying to ease the brunette’s nerves as well as her own.  “yes uh, daiyu gave me something,” she flicks open the blade that had been pressed against her palm as proof.  as she stares at the metal her mind flashes back to the hallway.  the vision of that child- their face mangled- it won’t leave her.  she can’t stop thinking about the life growing inside her, the life that will soon be vulnerable to the world.

“wait, mara,” she grabs the doctors arm, a wild look in her eyes.  “there’s something- please, i need you to promise me.”  ophelia’s gaze doesn’t waver for a second.  “if anything happens to me, if i get even a scratch,” she trembles, her face utterly desperate as she makes her request, “i need you to save the baby.  please, promise you’ll save them.”  she doesn’t know if it’s even possible- she has no idea how quickly an infection would spread to her fetus.  she also knows that delivering early is a risk.  but she needs to know that mara will try.  she doesn’t like asking this of her coworker, her neighbor.  mara has her own safety, and her family’s, to worry about.   but she hopes that mara, who she now knows is a mother, will understand.  she knows that her own mom will understand.  everyone else- she can’t say.  but she isn’t worried about anyone else.  she isn’t worried about herself.  from now on, everything but her child is secondary.  “i’m sorry,” a tear brims in her eye.  “please.”

He drops his hand easily, handing over control to the young medic with little complaint. Simon isn’t a trusting person, per se, but he trusts in the expertise of those assigned with jobs in the infirmary. And besides, they’re supposed to look after their own here, aren’t they? They’re certainly not supposed to stab each other in the midst of acute chaos. But never mind that. He offers a small smile. “Ha, thank you.” Flattery he cares little for, but he’s in no mood to point out her feeble attempts at stroking his ego will do her little good. Who knows, maybe she means it. He knows little of Ophelia Cage, but she’s often considered kind.

He’s a perfect patient, sitting still and placing his hands in his lap after gesturing at the wound she’s looking after. “Capable doesn’t look like that. Should’ve never let one of them get close enough to get a nick in,” he says, and it’s true enough. And while the minor wound was all he’d left the scene with ( along with some possible bruises, but only time would be able to tell ) it is indicative of shortcoming. Perfectionism is a hard to beat trait, especially when it affects all area of life — which, yes, does include using violence in return for precious loot. “But we had a good crew, despite being a bit short.” He hisses a little as she cleans the wound, but doesn’t stir beside it.

“Yeah, my next patrol isn’t ‘till tomorrow morning, so I’ve got a clear evening ahead of me.” He doesn’t really do small talk, as a rule. Not because he doesn’t see the purpose in it, but because he’s just not good at it. Besides, he feels like there’s an attempt her, to switch topics: so he switches back. “Pity though, about Mike. It worries me. The pointed fingers in the wake of it, the whispers … it’s not good, for the base to be so distrustful of one another.” He tilts his head, just so she can reach the cut a little easier. “And yet so much reason for distrust. To kill your own kind — and then I keep hearing people mention you, coated in fresh blood that morning.” He looks at her. “I don’t need to be worried about you, do I? I’m at your mercy, after all.” Simon leaves it in the air whether it’s a joke or not. Admittedly, he’s not sure himself.

.

it’s not unusual to hear a soldier talk the way simon does- but there is still something about it that ophelia finds jarring.  the emotionless way he recalls the fight, the way he criticizes himself for getting hit.  the soldiers she knows, the soldiers she has loved- they were never proud of their kills.  at least, never in her eyes.  her maxym was a fighter, he could hold his own, but he never enjoyed the violence that came with his position.  saw it as necessary sometimes, maybe.  but he wasn’t a product of the qz, not like simon.  “well luckily they didn’t do anything too bad.  with my stitches, this won’t even scar,” she smiles.  she’s always had careful, steady hands, always took great care with her patients no matter how small the wound.

“well good, i’m sure you’re tired.  you can get some rest, give yourself some time to heal,” her gentle tone and tender touch are a sharp contrast from simon’s roughness.  she concludes her disinfecting and moves to pick up her sutures.  she prepares for the stitches, her tools a far cry from the kits her parents once used in the old world.  as she readies her needle, her fingers hovering over the cut, her thoughts are interrupted by the mention of mike once again.  “i agree,” she says, an honest response.  it will perhaps be the only bit of honestly she’ll be able to provide in this conversation.  

ophelia x tiktok trends

“simon? sandhu?” shit. Блядь. he keeps the mounting concern hidden under his decades of iciness, offering her only a look of thoughtfulness, consideration. these circumstances are far from ideal, but it’s nothing worse than he’s experienced before. i will do right by her. finally. “if he comes round again, you act normal with him. nothing more, nothing less.” if someone were to see the way nik talks to her, with distance and no smile, they might think he’s trying to bleed something out of her. but if they could hear him, they’d hear the softness in his orders. “he’s not someone you want to show any weakness to. walk around here like you don’t know anything about mike. start looking over your shoulder, and they’ll sniff you out.”

he’s her friend. it’s not a concept nik knows very well. a volkov has no friends, no one on their team. so as much of the kid’s life nik has seen and all that time spent training him, it doesn’t make the leash his brother has on the young alston kid any less noticeable. if matty were crueler, he might as well have started going by vissarion. “i don’t know with matty,” he says quietly in a burst of honesty. “alexei has his claws deep.”

she doesn’t look at him when she retails the events from her eyes. you’re lying to me, aren’t you? nikolai sighs softly. it’s okay, ophelia, i understand why. he thinks the kindest thing he can do is believe her, and so he fights the urge to ask more and nods in acceptance before thoughtful fingers smooth out his beard. he’s silent for a moment, needs it to consider their options, his options. “the less people you tell about this, the better. even people you trust, even people with good hearts… crack eventually. it’s better for everyone if it stays between us. and if anyone else starts bothering you about it, you tell me, okay?”

she just nods, the name feeling much more familiar once it’s complete.  she knows only a little of him, remembers a few moments in passing from when he roomed with gil.  she knows he is a soldier, but she can hardly hold that against him.  nevertheless, the interaction with him in the infirmary had frightened her, made her feel like she had eyes on her.  “okay.”  ophelia is smart, but she’s lived a privileged life all things considered.  she isn’t used to this- the sneaking, the hiding, the lying.  it seems however, that she will have to get used to it quickly.  “i- i’ll try.”  how do you avoid showing weakness when you feel so delicate?  she’s sure her cracks have already begun to show- nik can see them, it’s likely simon did too.  how long until she crumbles?

matty is a good boy, she wants to tell him.  he’s grieving, she wants to say.  nik should understand that pain just as well as she does.  but she also knows he is right.  like ophelia, he is following in his father’s footsteps.  moving up to enforcer gets him one stride closer.  throwing her under the bus could get him there- but she believes she knows him well enough to know he wouldn’t do that.  there’s a guilt he’s held since max died, a guilt she’s tried to free him of.  nik and matty hold similar roles in her life- both her notifiers.  perhaps nikolai still feels this guilt too, and perhaps it’s the reason he’s willing to help her now.  if the volkov is looking out for her, she has to believe that matty will too.  “he won’t say anything, but i’ll be careful.” 

she immediately begins to worry about her mother.  if people are questioning ophelia, will they question her too?  “yeah, okay.” she responds to him, but her mind is racing elsewhere.  katya has always been clever, this secret won’t eat away at her like it will her daughter.  she will be able to carry herself with confidence despite what she knows.  even so, it will trouble ophelia who has always been one to worry.  “nik i- i told my mom.  you’ll look out for her, won’t you?  please?  she won’t need it but- i do.  i need to know i haven’t put her in danger.”  her eyes are filled with sorrow and concern as she looks at him.  if she had a choice, nikolai volkov would not be the person she would be asking to protect her family.  but she doesn’t have a choice.  all she can do now is hope that history won’t repeat itself.

10th july. back room in the med bay. with @kinderdays​

it had been an undertaking of many layers. it had required tracking down lilibeth who mostly worked sundays at the med bay and plying her with the small batch of sour grapes they’d manage to grow long enough to fruit, to get her to let eva know that ophelia would indeed be working this sunday. it seemed much like her to not take her birthday off. eva supposed, there wasn’t much time to take off at all. not with everything going on now, not with everything that was always going on. 

but that alone, had just been one part of her plan. the other had required a harvesting of berries and will’s help in the greenhouse that came in the form of carving out the time and space for eva to bake the cake that was cased carefully in the metal tin in her hands, now. the jam from the slew of berries they had picked just a few days ago was fresh, holding together the layers of the birthday cake. eva was not a baker by trade – but samar had been. the labor of love of making this for ophelia had come bearing the weight of memories that were too fond to sour, but still hard to swallow. it was a ghostly feeling, doing something she hadn’t done since losing him. it was like she could feel the shadow touch of his presence, telling her to sprinkle just a touch more here even if the recipe didn’t call for it. but doesn’t it feel right? it has to feel right too. he’d say, and eva would be too busy drinking in that all too sweet smile to pass a judgment on the the task at hand at all. 

there had been something healing in making this cake, perhaps. the derivative love; her hands shaping what samar had taught them to, just so someone she held dear now could have something special on her birthday. no love, ever wasted.

and now, the final clip of the plan falling into place. eva weaving her way into the back room of the med bay where people took their breaks just as the clock struck 12:20 – just when lilbeth had told her to. the metal tin with the cake balanced carefully on one palm and the small glass bottle with the – what could only best be called mixed berry juice – enclosed in her other. she spotted the blonde of ophelia’s hair in the corner, near the biggest window of the room and continued making her way over. 

“hi you,” eva greeted. something bright in the beam of her smile. “through means i cannot disclose, i may have convinced lilibeth to give you an hour for break instead of the twenty.” eva stated, carefully setting her offerings on the small table between them before looking around to pull a stool so she could take a seat across from ophelia. “i know it’s the end of the world and all, but it seemed criminal to not let you have even just that on your birthday.” 

now seated, eva’s smile settled as she nodded to the dishes between them. “–happy birthday, opie.”

birthdays have changed a lot over the years.  as a child they’d always been special.  her mother would cook a nice meal with rations saved up, perhaps something sweet if they could manage it.  her father would decorate the hotel room, gil usually brought her something he found on patrol.  they were carefree days, something she looked forward to, days surrounded by people she loved.

lately birthdays feel a lot more empty.  last year it had been just her and her mom, two seats at their table noticeably bare.  katya had done her best to make something of it- to bring a little light into their darkness.  but if anything, it only made the gravity of her grief heavier.  this year was supposed to be better, this summer was meant to be beautiful.  she had her family, her beautiful tiny family, and it was growing.  but there is a new absence this birthday, a new hole in her heart.  today she realizes that she never got a birthday with max, not a real one, not one together.  it feels like a knife in her chest.

so ophelia does what she always does, she works.  any time in her life when things became too much to bare, she’s always thrown herself into her job.  she keeps busy, doesn’t let herself stop moving.  if she stops swimming, she’ll drown.  when it comes time for her break she offers to give it up to someone else a bit more tired than she, but lilibeth insists (perhaps even demands) she sit down.  and so she listened to orders, she sits herself in the break room, gazing out the window as the sun dusts over the buildings of the qz.  she tries not to think about maxym, tries not to imagine how they would have spent this day together.

but a cheery voice catches her attention.  it pulls her out of her spiral and causes her body to swivel in it’s direction.  she sees the familiar face of her friend, and a surprised look brightens up her face.  “eva! what are you doing here?” friends are not always a welcome sight in the infirmary.  their presence often comes with injuries.  but luckily eva looks fine, and in her hand is a metal tin that ophelia can’t help but eye.  “you remembered.” it’s not a question, the act doesn’t necessarily surprise the medic.  even in the short time she’s known eva she’s shown herself to be an exceptionally caring individual.  even still, the mention of her birthday coming up had been so brief.  “wow i- thank you,” she says as she eyes the spread in front of her.  “this is so thoughtful i can’t believe you went through all the trouble.” her gaze still lingers on the tin and she can’t help the mischievous smile that appears as her fingers reach forward to lift the lid and reveal what’s inside.  “oh my goodness, you didn’t,” a delighted laugh bubbles out of her as she looks upon the cake as if it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.  “eva this is- this is amazing.  thank you, thank you.”

— 🩹 —

The day before had been playing and replaying in his head. Over, and over, and over again he questioned if there was something he could’ve done to change the course of the day. Had he seen Marsie before everything had gone awry? Did he have an opportunity to keep her safe?

Instead of going out there into the thick of things to keep those he cared for safe, he hid for himself. She hadn’t been so far away when she’d died out there. Alone. He could’ve been there with her. He could’ve kept her safe. He could’ve, could’ve, could’ve done something.

He couldn’t take back what he’d done during the outbreak. There were no do overs in life. At least now he could do something. He could at least make sure that Ophelia was taken care of.

“I know, but you’ve got to eat something,” he encouraged, scooting the food that much closer to her before picking at a piece of the meal himself and swallowing it down. “There you go,” he hums, rubbing a hand lightly against her back.

He’d almost forgotten, in all the panic and fallout that had come, about a small piece of good news in the darkness. After the radio had cut out he couldn’t help but assume the worst. There were only so many reasons for that to happen. But it could’ve just been a scrap, that the radio had been necessary collateral in saving himself.

“Yeah - yeah, sorry, I should’ve told you sooner. He’s okay - well, as good as he can be, I guess. I saw him earlier. He’s - I patched him up a little. We’re making sure he’s not…” Infected. Fill in the blank. “He’s fine. Just a few cuts and scrapes… You know him…”

"i know, i’ve just-” the gentle touch against her spine brings a bit of comfort, the first bit of tenderness she’s felt in 48 hours.  “i’ve just felt sick to my stomach all day, you know?”  the explanation is unnecessary.  she knows gabe is feeling the same as her, despite only knowing marsie for a short time.  her spirit was enough to capture you in only a passing moment.  she likely had just as strong an impact on gabe as ophelia.

“oh god, you did?” he gaze cuts to him in an instant, her eyes unwavering.  her hand reaches forward and grabs his.  “he’s alright?  i mean- so he’s still, and he looked okay?” her questions are fragmented and frightened, she hangs on to every word he says.  you know him.  “yeah, yeah,” it’s said with a laugh, tears brimming out of her eyes as a bit of relief washes over her.  she hasn’t stopped thinking about gil since the outbreak.  nikolai had been able to tell her that he was alive, but the knowledge that he was being held under observation made her nauseous.  he can’t be infected, not him, not gilbert.  she can’t lose another piece of her ever-shrinking family.

 “thank you,” her fingers squeeze gabe’s,  “thank you gabe, for checking on him, for fixing him.”  the gratitude is earnest.  she is glad it was him that was sent in to see him.  she wishes it had been her, if she had been given the choice she’d gone.  but those above her believed the risk was too great to send someone with a weakened immune system, someone who’s body was working for two.