Maju!🌊

Anything you did was perfect to her. To her you were a perfect little angel after all, her pretty little princess. She couldn’t stand not being with you, she made sure to memorize your class schedule. She knew what time you went where, why you went and who you went with. She had it all down to a T, every step you took she already predicted. But she couldn’t let you know that, in fact she was pretty good at hiding it. She didn’t ask you many questions, didn’t talk much about you outside of seeing you. She never really mentioned you in her conversations, even when people asked about you. She just shrugged and gave a plain answer.

Even though the girls who lived around her made it obvious they wanted her, she didn’t care much. They weren’t worthy of her attention, they were all scum compared to you. She was devoted to you, dreamt about you, thought about you when she ate and drank. No matter where she was, you were on her mind without a doubt. Though it was hard to control herself, she needed some stress relief once in awhile. So she’d hit up one of those girls once every few months, and when she got what she wanted she dropped them. She didn’t need the dead weight holding her down, every path she took led straight back to you anyways. Every step she took was in your direction, no matter where she went. It was like you two were meant to be or something.

You didn’t really think she liked you, she was a known player matter of fact. So why would she like a plain Jane like you? Maybe she did like you, but only to dip right after. It was hard for you to try and understand her feelings towards you. She was so hard to read, cause she acted the same with every other girl she’s been with. But you enjoyed your weekly study sessions, and you liked your get togethers every week she planned. You didn’t really notice the prolonged touches she gave you, or when her hand would “slip” and accidentally grope you every once in awhile. Cause she always begged for forgiveness after, murmuring sweet apologies into your ears. Her sweet tone always swirling and twirling you every which way every time. But you never really knew what to say after, your tongue dancing behind your lips but never uttering a word to her unfortunately.

You and abby had planned to hit up a local frat party this weekend, you had suggested to go out and do something different this weekend rather than hiding away in your dorm room. You were sitting at your desk and curling your eyelashes, your roommate yapping on the phone with her friend. You had on a pink tank top with black Nike flare leggings hugging your thighs. Abby was supposed to meet you outside of your dorms outside, you glanced at the time on your phone and realized you had to be downstairs in 4 minutes. You quickly finished your makeup, packed everything back up and grabbed what you needed before walking out the door.

Abby was waiting outside, scrolling mindlessly on her phone before she heard your sweet voice calling her name. She threw her phone in her pocket and walked towards you as the wind blew through her long brunette hair.

“Heyy y/n…” she voiced to you, her eyes taking in your body. She smirked slightly as she saw your tight outfit, hugging your hips nicely.

“Hii” you replied back, a smile on your face as I looked up at her intently. As soon as she got close enough, her arm snaked around your waist and pulled you closer as you two started to walk.

“You look good baby” she sneered down at you, copping a quick feel at your bottom before letting go.

“Hey!” You giggled out as you slapped her hand away and smiled up at her playfully.

“Ok ok sorryyy” she giggled back as you two made your way to the party.

—

When you two made it to the front door, you reached to knock before she pulled you back harshly and knocked herself. She held you close to her as you two waited for the door to open, your grip tightening around your waist. A tall guy around the same age as you both answered the door without a shirt on, the loud buzzing and booming of the party inside filling your ears as he looked down at you.

“Abby?” He asked, his eyes narrowing trying to put her face together. You saw the cup of alcohol in his hand, as he leaned on the frame of the door while his mouth hung open obviously absolutely wasted.

“Hey man” she chuckled, dabbing him up and walking into the party with you by her side. The guy stepped away and closed the door behind you, and walked away before yelling out somebody’s else’s name.

The second you walked in the music hit your ears, raving and bashing into your canal as the speakers rang through your ears. Your eyes darted around the room, watching everyone converse and touch one another like nobody else was watching. Abby looked around the room and scoffed at everyone. All in tight little skimpy outfits, the girls all whoring around as usual. It was disgusting to her, everyone feeling up whoever they wanted to. The stench of alcohol hit her senses right away, her face grimacing in disgust. But she washed away that expression off her face right away, her normal fun loving smile replacing it. Her facade she made for you dropped for just a second, but she brought it back right away. Her pearly white canines showing off in her smile, as she smiled down at your unsuspecting delusional form.

“You wanna get a drink?” She asked, pulling you forward and towards the drink table.

“O-oh uhm sure” you replied, surprised from the sudden yank from her. Your feet quickly finding their balance again and following behind her tall physique. You watched as her muscles rippled in her shirt, the shirt hugging her body tightly. Her muscles looked like they were gonna rip through it any second, the veins in her arms and hands pulsating throughout her body and pulling you tightly.

—

The room was spinning around you, you had lost Abby about an hour ago. You ran off to the basement awhile ago, your mind was buzzing from how much you’ve drank already. Stumbling and bumping into random things as you climbed up the basement stairs, desperately clinging onto the handles along the staircase. You giggled to yourself at the thought of Abby being worried about where you were, a small hiccup falling from your lips as I smiled and giggled to yourself. You hadn’t planned on drinking this much, but you couldn’t really tell the difference between the bottles. So you just poured random amounts of random drinks into yours, and gulped it down in seconds. Once you finally got up the steps, you let a loud sigh. Relieved you finally made it to the main floor after what seemed an eternity.

You quickly looked up and started to roam around the house for Abby, pushing past random people and squeezing through groups of strangers. You walked upstairs and roamed the hallways, looking in the rooms and in the bathrooms. But you still couldn’t find her, you stopped at the last room and walked in and glanced quickly at the window before seeing a familiar face through it. Your eyes narrowed as you rubbed them and walked closer to the window, your eyes widened abruptly. You watched another girl groping and kissing Abby Anderson, YOUR Abby Anderson. You rubbed your eyes again to try and get rid of the thought, but it wasn’t a thought. It was the reality of it all, Abby was with another girl. Your heart sank as you watched Abby kiss her right back, you watched as her hands groped that girls butt just like she did to you. You didn’t feel special anymore, did she really touch every girl the same way? Did her touch feel the same to every girl she spent the night with, was it really just a relapsed scene she took part in? The heat in your body rises drastically as your throat dried up. You couldn’t pull yourself away from the scene in front of you, it was like you were stuck on a loop. Your eyes watering as you gripped the windowsill tightly, nails digging into the wood. You let out a sharp exhale, tears finally falling from your eyes. Clouding your vision and drowning yourself in your own sorrows.

The sadness seemed to eat and tear away at your heart little by little, ripping the ribs protecting it. Pulling and prodding it’s way in like a disease, ripping your chest open and taking what it wanted. The tears just kept falling, but no sound came out. But you didn’t really understand why this hit so hard, you knew she was a hoe. You knew she did whatever she wanted, because you guys weren’t together. She wasn’t yours, and she never has been.

You were finally able to pull your gaze away from the scene, you let a calm breath. You sat up and looked away as you wiped your tears. You could feel something different simmering inside you, it was hot and heavy. Your fists balling up tightly, you looked back down at her as you watched in disgust as she gripped and rubbed against that girl. You rushed out of the room and downstairs, pushing and weaving people out of your way. You scoffed to yourself as a million thoughts raced through your mind. You rushed outside, your eyes glaring her down.

Abby noticed you eventually and ripped herself away from the girl, she didn’t know what she was doing. It was like that glare from you sobered her up and pierced right through her. She watched as you stormed towards her, a small smirk gliding across her lips. She’d been waited for this, though she didn’t plan for this to happen. Everything was quickly coming together, you’d walk up to her throw a few insults at her face. But she’d quickly calm you down, hold you in place and you’d melt right away.

It wasn’t hard for her to understand your stupid little brain. The way you walked and talked and carried yourself was so easy for her to see what you were, a fucking idiot. She watched as your big girl emotions ate you up inside and spit you right back out. She was amused by the look on your face, the way your features were all scrunched up in fury as you stared her down. Your dumb little brain couldn’t even comprehend what she was on, the wavelength you two were on were eons apart.

“Hey hey…” she cooed from above you, her hands finding yours before you could hit her. She pulled you closer as her large hands intertwining with yours, they were cold but soft. They ran a chill up your spine as you were caught off guard by her calm demeanor, she pulled you in and held you close to her.

You looked up at her as she stared down at you, you couldn’t see what she was doing. Your eyes could only see what was on the outside unfortunately, you couldn’t see the way her eyes gleamed with a predatory glare. You couldn’t understand how her eyes ate you alive, her gaze consuming you slowly.

“N-no you can’t j-“ you yelled at her angrily before you felt her arms wrap around your waist and her face nuzzle into her neck.

You let out a small whimper of surprise as she hugged you tightly, her warm breath hitting your neck as she consumed you. You could feel your heartbeat slow, that hot feeling was gone. Replaced by a lighter and softer feeling growing in your core. It was a good feeling, you let your shoulders relaxed as you felt her lips against her neck.

“You ok?” She asked softly pulling away as she looked down at you, her thumbs rubbing against your waist soothingly. Her voice was so soft and comforting, you felt like you were on a cloud. She’d never been this touchy with you, her touch seemed so kind and innocent.

You looked up at her, your mind thinking a million thoughts at once as you tried to come up with an answer. Your voice caught in your throat as you froze up a little, your mouth left agape.

She smirked down at you and pulled you closer to her so your head was against her chest. Her hand found your head and brushed your hair comfortingly. Her veiny hands skimming through your silky hair, her touch sweet and kind as she held you tightly. Your arms slowly found her waist as tears began forming in your eyes again and your face scrunched up in sorrow. This felt so good, you’ve wanted this for so long. You’ve dreamt about her holding you like this, whispering sweet nothings into your ear.

“You wanna go home?” She asked sweetly, her hands finding yours and walking out of the yard.

You nodded your head slowly as you looked at the ground and stayed close to her, your grip tight around her hand.

—

Part 2 coming next week!

𝜗𝜚 — sfw .ᐟ ⋆₊˚

• he wears half-unbuttoned linen shirts that always look slightly wet and cling to her figure perfectly. sleeves rolled up, ropes of muscle on full display.

• incredibly tall, broad and sturdy. the kind of body built for hauling anchors up from the seabed easily, and throwing men off the dock.

• a scar across their left eyebrow and another down their torso.

• has a shark tooth necklace and a dagger tucked into his boot that he definitely stole off a navy officer.

• has sailor tattoos half-hidden along her torso and sleeves, the ones displayed on her upper arm reveal while he’s working out before sunrise, and it’s a sight you could never tire out from.

• he never fully ties his boots. never has, never will.

• sun-kissed skin, calloused hands, rope burns on her forearms, salt in her hair.

• their voice is always a little hoarse from yelling orders, laughing far too loud, or fighting others twice her size.

• prefers loyalty and honesty over anything.

• captain of a mostly-queer, loyal crew. they’d die for her. she’d die for them.

• knows how to fix sails, load a cannon, patch a wound, and gut a man in under 10 seconds.

• his quarters are cluttered but organized chaos: maps, weapons, books, a hammock strung in the corner && some pressed flowers from you tucked between her journals.

• eats oranges like apples to avoid scurvy. forces you to do the same, she holds it to your mouth and raises a brow at you if you refuse.

• brings you food first at every meal, even if it’s just hardtack she carved into a heart shape or stolen fruit.

• sharpens his cutlass at night, humming sea shanties under his breath. she will change the lyrics to make it about you.

• tenderly aggressive. she punches someone for disrespecting you, then turns to you and speaks softly to you, “you okay, sweetheart?”

• calls you “captain’s girl” when you sit on her lap at taverns.

• always pushes you behind her during fights, no matter how capable you are.

• surprisingly well-read, and loves stormy nights when she can read with you tucked against her chest.

• protective to a fault. grumbles if someone touches you without permission.

• has a soft spot for strays (animals and people). her crew is made of outcasts and weirdos and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

• rough hands, soft touches. her lips taste like rum and salt. always a little too desperate, like you’re her only anchor.

• will pick you up and set you on a barrel so you’re eye level for a kiss. “can’t reach you properly down there, can i?”

• loves laying with his head in your lap after long days. lets you wash and braid her hair as your fingers are gentler than most she’s faced.

• wears one of your rings on a chain around his neck and keeps a lock of your hair in her journal.

• writes you sappy little notes and hides them around the ship but pretends it wasn’t their doing. if you question them about it, they tackle you into bed to shut you up.

• if you get seasick, he’ll sit upon your hammock with you, a hand around you at all times. “what did i say about drinking that piss-water rum?”

• refuses to let you scrub the deck, believes it shouldn’t be your job as you do so much for the crew elsewhere on the ship.

• patches up your torn pieces of clothing, “s’not perfect, but it’ll hold”. he secretly keeps the ripped scraps to tie around his wrist.

• uses a cannonball as a weight to work out in the mornings. makes you sit on his back or lay underneath him for pushups.

• HATES formal clothing. wore a button-up shirt once and ripped it open in five minutes, muttering, “can’t fuckin’ breathe in this shit.”

• has a secret stash of jewelry and trinkets she’s stolen just because they thought you’d like them.

• teaches you how to fight with a dagger—grabs your wrist and positions you close, whispering instructions against your ear.

• will dive into the sea to catch you a pearl if you so much as glance at a merchant selling one.

• “this world doesn’t care about people like us, so we’ll make our own.”

𝜗𝜚 — nsfw .ᐟ ⋆₊˚

• stone top. always. he’s your captain in bed too. growls “mine” against your throat, fingers bruising your hips.

• doesn’t just want you needy—wants you ruined from their touch alone. “say it. tell me who you belong to, pretty thing.”

• keeps a knife near the bed (safety, sure—but also has absolutely used the hilt to tease you)

• will put his fingers in your mouth to shut you up when you’re being bratty — “shh, you’ll get us both in trouble.”

• will pull you into their lap at the wheel of the ship and spread your legs under her coat, their voice low: “be a good girl, or they’ll hear.”

• HUGE masochist, brat tamer, crazy size kink, breeding kink, possessive praise kink & more—they live for how small you feel under her.

• wears a leather harness under their shirt sometimes. you don’t know why they do it until they grab you by the wrist and drag you below deck.

• spits in your mouth. holds your jaw gently, tilts your chin up. “you like that, baby? yeah, thought so.”

• sometimes ties your wrists to the headboard with torn rope. occasionally bites through it herself.

• looooves edging you. adores it. watches you fall apart, smirking, “you’ll come when i say you can.”

• sits far too close to you in the tavern and can’t keep her hands off you. one hand is planted on your thigh, sliding higher under the table. whilst looking completely unbothered.

• has made you cum quietly during meetings with her crew —“don’t make a sound, sweetheart, unless you want everyone knowing what i’m doing to you.”

• will order someone to leave the room despite the conversation if he’s horny. “out. now.” before fucking you against the map table.

• “you gonna cum all over your captain’s cock, baby?”

• “such a filthy mouth, and i haven't even touched you yet.”

• “i could leave you tied up like this for hours. might do, unless you beg.”

• “look at you—dripping just from my voice. you’re hopeless, aren’t you?”

• “don’t move, love. take it f’me. that’s it. that’s my good girl.”

• STRONG. can lift you without flinching, has absolutely thrown you over her shoulder like you weigh nothing.

• big, rough hands that she’s aware distract you heavily. holds your throat gently but firmly && slaps your ass (and cunt) with a warning smirk.

• strap game? god-tier!! knows exactly how to move both her fingers and tongue. fast, deep, and relentless until your legs are shaking.

• aftercare king. cleans you up gently & quickly before tucking you into her chest, murmuring sweet nothings in your ear as you drift off. “did so well f’me, pretty girl. you’re mine.”

Definitely had a "I'm so straight" phase.

Loves stand up comedy and will make you watch it with her. This woman will find comedians that no one has ever heard of and in a few months they will suddenly become popular. She has a sixth sense for it.

Lives under a fucking rock. She doesn't have tiktok or twitter, uses Instagram as her archive.

However. Abby loves insta stories. Yeah, she could post a thirst trap in the gym, but why would she if she can post a video of a hedgehog she came across? Or a weirdly existential poster she saw? Or you doing some stupid shit like trying to open a bottle of wine with a screw and pair of pliers? (You fail, and the next video is her opening the bottle)

Obviously a gym rat, hates going to the gym with someone (even you), unless she goes the separate ways with her company. However, if you're new to the gym, Abby will gladly show you around and will abandon her own workout just to take care of you. If you hate gym, it's fine too - again, she prefers to train alone.

Abby's care is quiet: she is one of these people who does things and never talks about them. There's a famous story about Yoongi (BTS) who gives his teammates water bottles without even looking at them - that's Abby for you. She doesn't ask or even draw attention: she gives you snacks, puts her jacket on your shoulders, washes the dishes after you've cooked, and all of this is just so natural to her she doesn't even recognise it.

Abby is not the person who gets into your hobbies, but she remembers everything you've told her and will let you talk her ear off.

The most hardworking person you've met. Even if she has her family support, she still tries to find some kind of job, or puts all her effort in her studies.

Abby hates all these healthy recipes, so she tries to come up with her own that won't taste like absolute shit. She is doing great, by the way, and tricks you into healthy eating with her cooking.

If you have any kind of ED, Abby will be the most supportive person ever. She will bite everyone's head off if they dare to comment on your eating habits, help you through recovery and never, ever judge you.

She doesn't like gossip, and is pretty private about her own life.

(this one is self-indulgent) If your hair needs any kind of extra care, Abby will help gladly. Brushing, braiding, hair care routines - she is there for you. She cares about her own hair and understands your struggles.

Abby is confident: not cocky confident but in a way that she knows there's nothing wrong with her and no one can tell her who she is or pretend to know her better than she knows herself. It's impossible to make her feel self-conscious.

So she really doesn't get it if you get self-conscious, especially around her: she sees you as a whole, complicated person and to her, you have nothing to be self-conscious about. It's just you, and you're perfect the way you are.

The woman of action - Abby never promises something she can't follow up on. If she tells you she will do something for you, she will no matter what.

Can't clock people for shit - for all her own confidence, she is oblivious as fuck. Has some bullshit detector built in her, but interpersonal relationships are not her strong suit. Didn't know Mel and Owen were dating for like four months, or that Manny and Nora were awkward around each other because they slept together and figured out they don't work sexually at all.

So flirt with her all you want, but she will think you're just bantering. She will flirt back shamelessly and still think it's just friendly banter. Idiot.

Combine her obliviousness and confidence and get Abby who uses her words all the time. She wants to ask you on a date? She asks, absolutely not scared of being rejected. She is straightforward as fuck and will ask whatever she wants to know.

Really appreciates if you can hold your own against her. Abby is not pushy, but she is more at peace knowing you will establish your own boundaries without fear.

She is an octopus when she sleeps. Her nose will be buried in your hair/neck to the point she will have trouble breathing, but she doesn't care. Holds you the whole night and genuinely won't let you go if you try.

Buys you flowers every week, and when you start living together, Abby starts buying house plants. Eventually your place looks like a greenhouse.

Loves gaming. Abby will seat you between her thighs and play her little games while you can nap or scroll down your phone. If she plays something with a good plot, you will watch it like a movie.

If you're into gaming too, then you'll be two nerds who fight over who gets to play some game first.

If you're a Sims 4 girlie like me - Abby buys every pack they release for you. Doesn't matter if you want it or not - she hears you watching announcements, she pre-orders it. Good luck with the Journey to Batuu pack.

+ nsfw

Abby is gentle and caring to her core. Very big on the consent, so if you find asking if she can do something annoying - too bad, because in the beginning your sex will sound like a very hot interrogation.

On the other hand, if you're into dirty talk - you're in luck. She sounds extremely hot and doesn't even know it.

She is a switch and her preference depends on her mood.

If Abby tops, she is 100% service top.

Everything you say will be weaponised and used against you.

You like how she kisses your neck? She will master it untill you start to shake just from the brush of her nose against your skin.

She is very thoughtful and goal-driven. (The goal is to have you half-delirious with pleasure)

Loves eating you out, can and will do it at every opportunity.

When Abby bottoms, she thinks she is pretty chill. In reallity she is so damn bossy, will tell you what and how to do.

If you want her to shut up and take it - your best bet is a strap. Abby turns into a whiny, sweet mess, and if she tries to talk you can always fuck her harder.

Abby is very open to trying out new things, does all the research and then nerds out to you about it. The most unsexy sex talker outside the bedroom.

The rule of thumb is: don't make her cum as long as you can, otherwise Abby will just have her orgasm and lose all her sex drive.

That's why Abby is the strong supporter of "sex is a journey, not a destination" philosophy. She likes sex for the intimacy and fun, not for the orgasms.

“I’ll tell them it was raiders,” you promise. “They don’t need to know.”

Abby scoffs, pushes ahead with a rough shoulder that almost sends you stumbling. “Don’t lie for me. They should know.”

“Abby—”

But she’s already disappearing through the opening gates, leaving you to trail behind. Your heart is sore, and you wonder if any hope of connecting with her has finally been dashed. If that quiet, timid thing between you was destroyed before it could bloom. 

When Lev greets her at the entrance, she doesn’t light up as usual, trampling right by him to hand over her loot and then marching away. 

Gone. Like everything you said that night meant nothing. 

Like there is nothing on this earth you can say to make her forgive herself. 

***

Abby keeps her head down as she collects her food in the cafeteria with Lev. Her legs are tired from days of walking, but her stomach and heart is worse. She’s been… disoriented since the nightmare. She doesn’t know when this one became different: when she was dreaming of dirty hands all over her body, or if it was the after, the hurting you, that has left her scars open and bleeding again.

Her mood is affecting Lev, and she hates that, but she still feels like a livewire. Dangerous. Not in control. 

It gets worse when you sit down opposite her, mostly because, when you talk to Lev, he becomes this sweet, carefree kid who’s never had to worry. You bring out the light in him, even after seeing the darkness in her. 

“Did you guys run into many Infected this time?” he asks, wide-eyed. Always concerned for Abby, always asking her to let someone else go. It isn’t in her nature to hide from patrols and supply runs, and as soon as you volunteered, she was there, knowing the other option would be that asshole doctor who keeps trying to catch your attention. Luke, he’s called, always hovering around you like a bad smell.

Including now. As you tell Lev no, there were only a few Clickers you managed to avoid for the most part, Luke sits down, leaving the flimsy cafeteria table rattling. 

“Hey. I see you got back in one piece,” he says, only to you. Abby’s potatoes begin to taste acidic in her mouth. There’s something about him she doesn’t like. Something that definitely isn’t jealousy. She doesn’t think. Even if Lev is inclined to argue otherwise.

“Yeah, it went pretty seamlessly.” Your smile is forced, and when you flinch against his outstretched hand, she wonders if it’s because you don’t like him, or because you’re still rattled from what she did to you. 

If Luke catches on, he doesn’t show it, grabbing your neck as though he’s entitled to it. It makes Abby’s fingers curl in her palms, but she has no right to defend you. You’re capable of doing that yourself, but never have. 

“Holy shit,” Luke whispers. “Someone had you in a chokehold. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You pull away, pretending to be interested in a pea rolling off your tray. 

“Why didn’t you come to the infirmary?”

“Because it’s a bruise, not worth any supplies or time. Doesn’t even hurt.”

If your voice wasn’t still hoarse, it might have been more believable. Abby keeps her head down, heart leaping erratically. She still feels that memory pressing in on her. The confusion as she woke not in her bed roll, but on top of you, your sinew and softness crunching beneath her knee and hands. The wide panic in your eyes. The shudders that rolled through you like after shocks. 

There are thousands of people she could hurt without blinking, without caring, but you? God, she never wanted to hurt you. And it’s worse, somehow, that you forgave her without question. She deserves to be hated. Deserves to be yelled at, maybe even thrown out. The only reason she hasn’t turned herself in is because she knows Lev would go with her, and she won’t ever let him roam without community again. This is the safest the two of them have ever been, and she intends to make it last. She might not be able to let go of the past, but he can. He will. 

“You could have damaged your oesophagus,” Luke continues, pressing the bruise. You wince. “Who did this to you? Must have been a powerhouse.”

Your eyes fall to her, then dart away again just as quickly — but it doesn’t matter. Luke sees it. Looks at Abby like she’s scum on his shoe, which to be fair, isn’t a change from usual. Not every Firefly gave her a warm welcome when they showed up emaciated and traumatised last year. She didn’t tell them who her father was, because that version of her was long gone. 

“Did she do this?” There’s a warning in Luke’s voice. 

Lev looks at Abby, a question in his gaze. She avoids it. 

You’re quick to huff, “No, Jesus Christ, Luke. We ran into raiders. That’s all.”

He relaxes, hand smoothing an errant curl from your face. You don’t move, frozen with your cutlery suspended in midair. 

“Come to my room later. I’ll check it out properly. Give you something for the bruising.”

Yeah, Abby bets he fucking will. She stands up, sending the plates clattering again when her thick thighs hit the bench. She doesn’t want to hear anymore about how he’ll take care of you in a way she can’t.

And she certainly doesn’t want to keep hearing you defend her like she deserves it. 

Later, Lev will try to sleep in her room. She will say no. Never again. She refuses to hurt another person she loves.

***

Abby doesn’t mean to find a spot to sit so close to his room. It’s just the only place where nightwatch won’t bother her, and there’s a balcony that overlooks the sea beyond base. She never goes too close, the taste of sea salt bringing her back to being tied to the pillar, left to dry out and die. The lapping of waves reminds her of Ellie, having her head dunked under water as she wondered whether this would be the time she finally lost. The Rattlers had taken any strength that might have ended that fight. All that was left was a pure, desperate drive to get Lev away. 

You probably don’t remember, but you were the first kind face she saw after. She journeyed through city ruins swarming with Infected and stealthily led the way through the camps of militia she didn’t trust, but the first smile she saw after Santa Barbara was yours. 

And she has been clinging to it like a lifeline since. 

Your face is behind her lids again, afraid as you look up at her after she'd leapt back in shock. Sorrowful, too, because your empathy is a well that never runs dry. She saw it first when she arrived with Lev, how you would visit her every day for weeks to make sure she was eating (she wasn’t) and sleeping (never again), your voice hushed like you knew she’d had enough rough yells and deadly screeches to last a lifetime. 

Like you knew. You didn’t try to touch her like the others. You never forced her. You lured her out of her shell slowly, sitting in silence with her some days. It was Lev you won over first. His trust in you made her want to trust, too. 

She never deserved all that time and patience and care. 

She squeezes her eyes closed, tugging at her hair until her scalp stings. She has hated herself often, but never like this. She doesn’t know how to keep going, knowing falling asleep could end in someone else’s death. What if she was paired with someone else on patrol? Someone who would sooner her shoot her in her fucking face than tell her it’s okay, she’s okay, she didn’t mean to hurt them. 

A door behind her creaks open and shut. Her back prickles with the feeling of being watched, and she holds tighter to the cold metal railings of the balcony when she recognises your light footsteps. Walk on by, she begs silently. Don’t fucking talk to me anymore. Hate me like I hate me.

But if she really wanted that, she wouldn’t have come to this corner of base. Her jealousy, it turns out, is just a tad stronger than her self-loathing. And she doesn’t trust that asshole anymore than she trusts herself, so maybe she just has to make sure you get out okay. 

She turns around, bile rising in her throat when she sees that your boots are in your hands instead of on your feet. One of your vest straps has fallen, too. 

“Hey,” you greet softly. “I thought you’d be spending time with Lev.”

“I don’t trust myself around him,” she says through gritted teeth. “Doctor Luke was very thorough with his check-up, huh?”

You sigh and place your boots down to stand beside her. She’s not sure if it’s the cool breeze of the night or your presence that sends goosebumps up her arms. “He saw the other bruises on my chest. Wanted to make sure.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

You frown. “I didn’t tell him, Abby. I told you already. And if you want to bunk somewhere else tonight, you know I wouldn’t mind sharing my room.”

“That’s a joke, right? You’re not actually that stupid?” She doesn’t know why she’s suddenly so fucking angry, only that she’s imagining Luke’s hands all over you, greedy where hers were biting, and it isn’t fair. It isn’t fair that her twisted subconscious has ruined any chance she might have had to…

To what? She’s never let herself get too close. Never will. Has something really been taken from her, or is it just that she wishes she could be someone like Luke? Someone who you could be with, peacefully, and it would make sense. Someone who can take care of you and the fucking bruises she left. 

Maybe the ones she’s leaving now, because your recoil like that word, stupid, is a bullet. “I trust you. I know not to touch you when you’re sleeping, now. It won’t happen again.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know that if it did, we’d handle it.” 

You try to take her hand, but again, she refuses it. Always refusing it. 

Tears glisten in your eyes, reflecting the full moon’s light. “I care about you, Abby, but I can’t pull you out of whatever anger this is. I want to. I really fucking want to. But…” You rub your face. “But I’m tired and I don’t know what I can do.”

“Why are you so fucking desperate to fix me?” She throws out her arms. “Maybe there is nothing you can do. Maybe the best option is to go back in there and tell your boyfriend that I’m a fucking liability.”

Another flinch as you look at her, perplexed. “He’s not my boyfriend, and you’re not a fucking liability, Abby. Do you honestly think that nobody else on this base is a little damaged? We’ve all survived something. I’ve survived something.” 

Her nostrils flare as she digs her elbows back into the railing. She can’t bear to think of what you might have endured.

You deserve more than this world has given you is what you told her that night. If that’s true of her, it’s devastatingly, triply true for you. You are good. You are kind. You are strong. She’s just a few fragments held together by shitty glue wrapped up in muscles that no longer feel like hers.

“I think that you want me to punish you, still,” you say finally, quietly. “I’m not going to. For Lev’s sake if not for your own, you should stop punishing yourself, too.”

She scoffs. “Right. Did you read that in one of Doctor Luke’s therapy books?”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” you snap finally. “What are you trying to do? Imply that I’m, what, sleeping with him?”

“Are you?” she can’t help but retort, because all she sees is that damn strap curled around your bicep instead of on your shoulder. 

“Why? Would it help if you knew the woman you strangled was a bit of a slut? Would I maybe deserve it if I was fucking our resident jackass?” 

Abby is finally rendered speechless. Her face slackens, life draining from her. She’s so fucking awful, and this? This is worse than hurting you physically. The crumpled expression on your face isn’t something she ever wants to cause again. 

“I’m done, Abby. I don’t know what you want from me, but if it’s to hate you, I might be capable of that after tonight.”

Abby feels her insides shatter. You walk away, disappearing down the hall. And if she was better, she’d let you go. That way, you’d be safe, and she wouldn’t have to keep feeling like this. 

But she’s not better. She’s just yours. So she chases you, calling your name. You keep your chin jutted high as you take the stairs, Abby skipping after you. 

“Please, just stop,” she begs.

There are tears rolling down your cheeks that she put there, and she can’t let them keep falling. Not if there’s a way to stop them. 

You’re almost at your door when she says: “You’ve saved me a thousand times." 

You stop, hand on the handle. A “What?” flutters out of you, wispy, barely there. 

“From the minute we got here, you saved me from myself. Over and over. I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve to be anywhere fucking near you, not before and definitely not now.”

It’s like you haven’t heard, and her stomach drops — she never knew it could just keep dropping, never finding a bottom — when you unlock your door. 

Only you nudge it open and motion for her to step inside. 

She does, into your darkness.

You flick the light switch on, a dim, flickering thing that runs on the base’s solar panels like every other appliance in this place. She’s never seen your room before: it’s bigger than hers and Lev’s, but not by much. Your patrol clothes haven’t made it to the laundry basket yet and there’s a book strewn open on your desk, one that surprises her with its flowery title. 

Your bed is rumpled, lived in, and everything smells like you. Like baked cinnamon and rain and soil. Like peace. 

She’s just the looming beast threatening to disrupt it all. 

“You gonna keep talking?” you ask. “Because I don’t really know what you’re trying to tell me.”

“I was being an asshole because I hate myself,” she says. “But also because I don’t like the way Luke looks at you, touches you, like he has a right to. You flinch sometimes.”

“He isn’t great with boundaries, but he isn’t dangerous, and he wouldn’t do it to you. You don’t need to worry.”

“I’m not worried about me.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, because you still don’t get it. “It’s you. You and Lev, you’re all I care about. I thought the Fireflies would be the thing that saved me, but what happened to me in Santa Barbara rewrote everything I wanted and needed. And I get here, broken and lost and fighting like hell to find Lev a real home, and there you are. You’re… You’re beautiful, and you know what I need without asking, and you make me feel like I can breathe.”

“Abby…” You’re crying again. So is she. 

“So when I hurt you, it’s like destroying the last thing that was good about me,” she says, voice small. “And when I see you with him, I think maybe it makes sense, and I fucking hate that, because he’s no good, and you deserve someone who will love you the way you want to be loved, not the way he wants you to be, with his greedy fucking hands and superiority complex. But he’s still the better option, because I fucking hurt you, and what's worse, I had no control over it, which makes me even more dangerous.”

Minutes pass in silence. She doesn’t know how to pull you out of whatever thoughts you’re having. Doesn’t know if she should just leave, only you’re blocking the door anyway, so she can’t.

“Abby, Luke isn’t the better option," you decide on. "He isn’t even an option. I don’t like him that way.”

“Okay.” It’s a relief, one she isn’t sure she’s allowed to feel. 

But then you go to her, cupping her face in your hands the way you did nights before — not without a look of asking, palms landing gently in case she doesn’t want them there.

She always wants them there. 

“You don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” you say. “Nobody should have endured what you did. The good in you was there long before me, and it’ll be there long after.”

“Don’t.” God, she doesn't want to think about an after. She doesn’t want to outlast you the way she did Yara, Owen, Mel, Nora. Her dad.

“I didn’t… I didn’t even know you felt that way,” you admit. “I just saw something in you that’s also in me, and I wanted to be there. You deserved someone to be there.” 

“You don’t know what it meant. I haven’t been able to say it.” But now, the alternative is losing you, and she won’t do that. So she will bear her soul, even if it’s rotten, even if it hurts. “I just…”

“What, love?” You gently brush her hair from her eyes, always that one strand trying to escape its braid. She thinks that if it means you touching her like this, she might keep letting it.

“I’m just so fucking sorry,” she says, and crumbles. You wrap your arms around her tight, catch her tears with your shoulder, and this is who she was before — not before Santa Barbara, but before everything. Before she lost her dad. Before her path of revenge and fighting was set. When she was just a child, and she was allowed to cry. Allowed to be sad and broken, because there would always be someone to sit with her through it. 

Like there is now. 

And she only realises then that it’s the first time she’s let someone hug her since the Rattlers. The first time her body hasn’t tried to leap from its skin at the sensation. She is safe. Your touch is not like theirs. 

When you pull away, she rests her forehead against yours. You wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Do you think maybe you can lie next to me for a while? I’m just… I’m so tired. And I don’t want you to leave yet. You don't have to get close, or even... You don't have to.”

It terrifies her to let herself get near enough to hurt again, but she already knows she won’t fall asleep, not when there’s you to look at, so she peels back your duvet, blushing when you slip off your jeans to get comfortable. Your underwear is basically shorts, but it’s still as bare as she’s ever seen you and it’s impossible not to want more. 

She might never be ready for that, but it doesn’t stop her from imagining. She kicks off her boots — something she rarely does, always afraid she might need to hop into action in a moment’s notice, but tonight, she is changing. She slides in beside you, and you nuzzle against your pillow, all tears and pink splotches and softness. 

She can admit to herself, then, that she’s in love with you. Might always have been. She doesn't think she’ll ever deserve to say it out loud, but she’ll try. Even if it means she never gets to fall asleep beside you, even if she has to leave as soon as her lids grow heavy. 

When she’s away and you’re here, that violence is so far out of reach, she can barely remember it’s taste. 

You look up at her out of groggy eyes, and she plays with your hair. “Sleep, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want to,” you admit. “You’ll be gone when I wake up.”

“There’s always tomorrow. Not going anywhere, okay?”

Your hands intertwine atop the duvet, rough callouses chafing from years of fighting too hard. Years of losing. 

But there’s none of that tonight. The world is calm, and by some miracle, so is Abby, able to go on even when she doesn’t want to because you’re here, walking with her. Holding her damn hand. 

Sometimes, you think you’re getting through to her. You’ll make her laugh, or find her favourite snack while picking over food stashes, and it feels like you’ve unlocked her. Sometimes, she touches you like you’re hers, pulling your hair from beneath the straps of your backpack before they get trapped or helping you work out first thing in a morning, keeping your punching bag steady with words of encouragement. 

You’ve shown her patience, understanding, and she’s rewarded you with pieces of her she hasn’t given to anybody else. Sometimes, her touch lingers long after it needs to, leaving you shivery and wanting, but you refuse to give into that. Know that what she needs is a friend, even if you sometimes catch her looking at your lips when you speak, as though she’s thinking it, too.

With your back pressed to the crumbling shed you’ve made your makeshift camp at, you stoke the fire and try not to look at her. It’s impossible not to, perhaps the only opportunity you’ll ever get to see her without that fierce frown on her features. Even in sleep, her hands are balled into fists against her chest, tension an ever-present companion. But the rest of her is smooth as marble: forehead lines ironed out, freckled nose twitching at that little hair, breaths falling from softly parted lips. 

And then it changes. Brows knit together, mouth pouting, body coiling like a spring in her bed roll. You look away. It isn’t your place to witness whatever she’s dreaming of, and god knows she’s been violated enough. She never told you, but you know. Recognise the signs like you would a friend after so long of trying to heal your own scars. 

Somewhere in the surrounding trees, a bird titters into the night, and Abby twists, blanket tangling around her. “No!” she shouts.

Your heart drops. Nightmare. Of course it’s a nightmare. There is no other way of dreaming anymore, not in a world of monsters. 

“Abby,” you whisper gently, rising from your seat to her side of the fire. 

She doesn’t hear you, fist punching against the ground as she yells out again. It tears through you, makes you grieve for her and hate whoever has caused it. 

“Abby, wake up, love,” you say, kneeling by her flailing body. “You’re safe.”

You only give her shoulder the lightest of touches, but something snaps. The wind is knocked from you as she sends you careening to the floor, inches from the fire. Your skull cracks against one of the rocks, her knee pressed into your sternum as she pins you by the neck. Her hands are so big, so heavy, muscles rippling — and there, in her eyes, is that wild look you know, the one that tells you she isn’t here, isn’t seeing things as they really are. 

You can barely choke out her name: “Ab… Abby!”

It doesn’t touch her.

“Abby, it’s… me!” You’re clawing at her hands, trying to loosen them so you can breathe again, but she’s immovable. You used to envy her strength, but now you fear it. 

It’s your own fault. You shouldn’t have touched her. You just… wanted to pull her out before it hurt enough to haunt.

“Please, Abby!” Tears stream down your face as your sternum begins to cave. “Abby, you’re okay. You’re safe. Abby!” 

It’s on your last wheeze that clarity returns to her blackened gaze. Fingers unfurl as she leans back, breathing heavy, sweat beading in her hairline. 

She says your name in a voice that’s fractured, throwing herself off you with a new urgency as she realises the damage she’s done. 

You blink the tears from your eyes, head tilting limply to the canopy of leaves and stars overhead as oxygen finally returns to your body. 

“I… I…” Abby stutters, which is new. 

Digging your fingers into warm soil, you try to haul yourself up, but your body refuses to obey your orders. 

“Oh my god. What did I do?” She looks down at her hands like she doesn’t recognise them.

“S’okay. You didn’t… You didn’t know.” Your fingers sift through your hair, wincing when you find the tender spot at the back of your skull. No blood. That’s good. 

“I… I could have killed you!”

You swallow the metallic taste from your mouth, dragging yourself away from the fire when it gets too warm. Your head spins, ribs ache, but it’s nothing that won’t mend within a couple of days. It’s the shock that’s driving you now, like your nervous system had been rendered it an afterthought until you’d assessed the damage. 

The agony in Abby’s expression as she watches is what drives you to lie: “I’m fine. It was my fault. I shouldn't have woken you.”

“I don’t know what happened. I… I…”

“It was a nightmare, that’s all. You’re okay, now. We both are.” You school your voice into one that you hope will soothe, but it only seems to inflame her more as she shuffles further away.

Self-loathing curls across her lips, toned stomach rising and falling with jagged breaths. “I’m so… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.” But when it comes out hoarse, your hand rises to your throat, just to make sure. It feels raw, like you’ve been battered as much on the inside as the outside. 

“Let me…” She moves forward, then pauses, tears glistening in her eyes. “Can I see?”

It’s instinct to want to say no, to push away. She hurt you, and you’re afraid, and you have been in a million situations where it wasn’t an accident, where they meant to ruin you.

But this is Abby, you remind yourself. It isn’t her fault. She didn’t know.

So you nod meekly.

She crawls on her knees to you, short braid falling over one shoulder as she shakily tilts your head to inspect your neck, using the torch when the light of the fire flickers too harshly. 

“It’s going to bruise,” she whispers thickly. 

“I can deal with bruises.”

“Where else does it hurt?”

“Nowhere.” A lie, one that she sees through when her eyes lower to the hand curled around your ribcage. 

“Did I… Did I break anything?”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Let me see, please.”

“Abby—”

She lifts the hem of your shirt, and you don’t stop her as she exposes the red welt where her knee crunched into your flesh, right beneath the edge of your sports bra. Goosebumps rise on you skin as she traces the large mark, and god, you wish this isn’t the way it happens. You wish she’d touch you so delicately because she wants to, not because she feels guilty. 

Not because she hurt you. 

She shudders, throat bobbing. And because the worst has already happened, and because the disgust on her face is cracking you open more than her strength ever could, you cup her jaw, a desperate plea for her to just stop. Be with you. Forgive herself, because you’ve already forgiven her, even if you’re rattled. 

“I get nightmares too. I wake up with my nails digging into my skin so hard that I’m bleeding,” you say. 

“But I hurt you,” she replies, like you’re the centre of it. The part that breaks her heart. “I never… I never want to hurt you.”

You don’t know what to say. You know that if the roles were reversed, you’d never be able to forgive yourself, let alone sit here and weigh up the damage. You push her hand away to cover your stomach again, and she reacts like you’re pushing her away, shifting back on her haunches. 

“I know,” is all you can give. “I know that.” 

Abby opens her pack to offer you water. When you take it, she switches off her torch and rises to her feet, pacing a few feet away with her back turned. The water helps to soothe your throat, but not the raw churning in your stomach. Not the bits beyond. For minutes, there’s nothing but silence as you both catch your breath, her with her shoulders hunched as she leans against a tree for support. 

“In your dream,” you say finally, quietly, “was someone hurting you?”

An almost unnoticeable tip of her head. 

“I’m not going to ask who, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”

“It could have been Lev.” She’s not listening, still stuck in her guilt. You don't want to imagine that: the person she loves most in the world getting crushed in heavy hands. You're glad it's you. Would let it be you every night as long as she never has to feel the pain that harming him would cause.

“It wasn’t.”

“It could have been!” she yells. 

“Abby, you can’t do this to yourself. Lev knows he’s safe with you.”

“No. No, he isn’t. And neither are you.”

You get up, grabbing her, but she yanks away — and you flinch. You can’t help it, too aware now of what those fists are capable of. 

When she sees it, she blanches, stumbling back a few more paces. 

“Abby, please… Please, love.”

At that word, she falters — like nobody’s ever called her it before. 

“I trust you,” you whisper. “I trust you, and so does Lev, because we know you. We know you keep people safe, yeah? We know you fought like hell to get here, because you’re good.”

Her lower lip wobbles, knee jerking like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Like she’s so, so lost. 

A tear trickles down your cheek. “Is this why you don’t sleep?”

She nods; it’s devastating. 

“Can I hold you?” you plead. 

Another nod, this one that ends in her face crumpling. You don’t waste a second, falling into her, arms looping around her neck as her fingers bunch your jacket. Like you’re all she has to cling onto. A sob falls into your tender neck, racking through you. She smells like the smoke of the fire, and the soap you brought home for her on she last supply run.

She smells like Abby. Not a monster, not someone you’ll ever fear. 

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers again and again. “I never want to hurt you. I’m so fucking sorry. ”

“I know. It’s okay. We’ll take care of each other, okay?”

“I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve you.”

“That’s not true. You deserve more than this world has given you.”

She says your name again, a croaked, delicate thing in her mouth. You can’t remember her ever saying it before, suddenly. Can’t remember her ever letting you this close. 

You guide her back to the fire with caution, sitting on her bedroll. She follows, eyes still caught on your neck, on the bruise. 

“How bad is the the pain? I can go back to that pharmacy we raided—”

“It doesn’t hurt.” Another lie, because like hell are you going back now. You're supposed to be on your way home. You want to go home. “I swear. Please, Abby. I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this.”

The corners of Abby’s lips tug down as she finally tears her eyes off you, into the fire. “I just don’t know how to take care of you when I'm the one who hurt you.”

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

“I do. I need it. And I… I want to.” She leans in to brush her knuckle over your neck again, leaving the hair there to stand on end. There is so much sadness swimming in her eyes, so much regret. And the only way you can think of to make it better, with your breaths mingling in the space between you and the smell of campfire smoke curled around you, is to hold her so tightly that she feels safe again. To kiss her until she knows it’s okay.

She must sense it, too, because her lids lower halfway, the point of her nose brushing against your cheek. “You should be telling me to get away from you. You shouldn’t want me anywhere near you.”

“You’re all I want near me,” you admit.

It isn't enough. She shutters, pulls away, bending her knees to rest her elbows over them. “Sleep, okay? You need it.”

It hurts more than her hands around your neck, more than stone against skull, more than knee against ribs. But you understand. Know you have no right to expect anything from her. And asking her to go back to sleep herself would be futile.

Still, when you lie down again, your pillow beside her thigh, she lets out a rough sigh and lightly — so lightly you almost don’t feel it; so lightly it’s hard to believe she could ever do harm — traces the lines of your forehead. 

“All the ways you’ve tried with me… I keep waiting for you to see that I’m not worth it.” Her voice scrapes the wounds inside you like salt. 

“I keep waiting for you to see that you are,” you reply. 

You grit your teeth, grabbing the first thing you can find as a makeshift tourniquet. You rip sleeve of your — her — sweater at the shoulder seam, hands made slippery by blood as you stabilise the arrow with the fabric, like you’d seen your colleagues do before. “You’re okay,” you’re whispering, and you both know it isn’t true. “I’m gonna get you help.”

Your name, again, like it’s all she can say. Her quivering hands cover yours over the mess of blood and fabric. You don’t realise you’re crying until the pad of her thumb brushes over your damp cheek, smearing more of her blood over your skin. She’s trying to comfort you, even now.

“Can you help me get you up?” 

She gives a nod, and slowly, you help her onto her feet, shouldering most of her weight. It isn’t easy with all her bulk, but there’s no other option, and the adrenaline coursing through your body does the work for you when your strength begins to waver. 

“Stay with me,” you beg when her eyes flutter shut, arm limp around your shoulder. Your fingers dig into her waist. “Just a little longer, Abs. Please. Don’t do this to me. You gotta stay.” One foot in front of the other towards the corner of the block. You’re afraid you hear whistling behind you, but you can’t go any faster, and fuck, you don’t know if you’re going to get her out of this. Get either of you out of this. 

“‘M here,” she murmurs. “Still here.”

“Good girl. You’re doing great.”

Finally, you round the corner, the truck in view. Alice’s barks must have gotten their attention, because Richie and his partner are sprinting toward you. 

“Shit, looks like your bulldog took a real fucking blow, huh?” Richie drawls.

“Shut the fuck up!” you bark out, the high pitch tearing through your vocal cords. “Help me get her into the truck!”

“Fucking asshole,” Abby is muttering, which is either a good sign or a really awful one, because if those are her last words, his the last voice she hears, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

Still, Richie helps her in, and she moans out at the jostling as you set her down in the truck bed. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” It’s all you can say as you take her hand, letting her head rest on your lap so it isn’t rocked by the movements of the truck. You brush wispy strands of hair from her face, heart cracking every time her lids fall shut and don’t immediately open again.

“You gotta stay just a little while longer. For Alice, right? And… And Owen.”

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” she slurs. 

“I know. I know.” A sob. “I shouldn’t have come out today. I shouldn’t have fucking done it.”

“Not… that,” she whispers. You have no idea what she means anymore, only that you love her, and it hurts, and you’ll never be able to live if she dies. And the worst part is you can’t tell her, because she isn’t yours. She’ll never be yours. 

Her brow puckers as you go over the speed bump, and she whimpers. Seeing her like this, in pain… it’s tearing you open. She’s Abby. She’s strong, always one step ahead of any threat. You made her weak. You were selfish and too damn proud to take a day off. 

“What happened anyway?” demands Richie. 

“We were ambushed. They were everywhere. They were fucking expecting us.”

“Gonna have to tell Isaac about this.”

“Yeah, no fucking shit!” you spit. He rolls his eyes, but it doesn’t matter. The WLF base finally moves into view, the discoloured med tents providing you with some relief. “We’re here, Abby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Except she isn’t here, and she doesn’t reply. 

“Abby?” You don’t have time to get her back. The truck parks up and soldiers snatch her away, lie her down on a stretcher, and you are so numb that you can only watch as she disappears into one of the tents. 

Somebody is telling you that she’s going to be okay, that Abby is always okay, but they don’t know that, and you don’t deserve the reassurance either way. 

“It was my fault,” you whisper, looking down at the blood on your hands. “I did this.

“It’s my… It’s my fault.”

***

Abby wakes disoriented, head churning a cement mixer as she blinks into shadows. She moves and regrets it, a fierce pain soaring through her shoulder. 

“Abby? Careful, baby. Take it slow.” 

Your voice. Her heart jumps at it, and she sinks further into the uncomfortable cot because you’re okay, you’re here, and she can let that worry ease. The last thing she remembers is your tears dripping onto her face as you promised her that she’s gonna make it, and that visceral devastation hasn’t dissipated from your features now. There’s blood smeared on your cheek, marked through from tears not yet dried. You're stood at the foot of her cot, the world moving in slow motion around you as wounds are tended to, soldiers taken in and discharged. She’s never had to be here before, but she guesses there’s a first time for everything.

Slowly, she moves her gaze down to the bandages covering her shoulder, finding the straps of her tank top have been cut so the remaining fabric now only serves to preserve her modesty.

“You okay?” is the first thing she thinks to ask, because you don’t look okay, hunched and hovering at the foot of the cot, and until you do, she can’t focus on anything else. Not even the big gaping wound in her arm. 

You choke on something bitter. “Am I fucking okay?”

“You weren’t hit?”

You scrub your hand over your face ferociously. “You were bleeding out all over me an hour ago, and now you’re asking if I’m okay?”

She blinks, picking over her thoughts like she’s wading through tar. She doesn’t know what the problem is, why you’re… angry?

You shake your head sharply when she doesn’t reply. “Owen is on his way. I’ll leave when he gets here.”

“What?” Her freckled nose wrinkles. “Why? What the fuck are you… You called Owen?”

“I thought you’d want someone you…” Your eyes glaze over again, and you scrub at the blood embedded in the creases of your knuckles. “I just thought you’d want him here.”

“Right, right. Like how you thought you needed to tell him that I’m in love with him?” Now, she’s angry, and she sees something like relief in your eyes — like this is what you wanted, to piss her off with this Owen shit.

But you’re also confused, asking, “What?”

“Last night, you told me that I’m in love with Owen. That we’re gonna get married at the aquarium and have a bunch of gigantic babies. It was all pretty big news to me," she says sourly. “You keep assuming that we’re still… us, and we’re not. We’re fucking not. He doesn’t need to be here, and you don’t need to leave!” 

“Then who should I call? I don’t know who you want—”

“I want you!” she erupts, loud enough to garner attention from the other wounded soldiers. And then, because you’re wide-eyed, not comprehending it, and she’s said it now so she may as well own it, she repeats it quietly: “I want you.”

“No.”

“No?” she asks incredulously. “What do you mean, no?”

“You should be mad at me. You should tell me that I did a really shitty job today, and that I was reckless and stupid and almost killed you because of it. You should tell me that I’m a real selfish fucking asshole, that I shouldn’t even be on the frontlines.”

Abby pinches the bridge of her nose with her good hand, head beginning to pound. She doesn’t get it. Every time she feels like she’s getting somewhere with you, you shut down on her. Like last night at the party, and all the times before that you’ve walked away mid-conversation. “Okay. You did a shitty job today. You were stupid and reckless and you weren’t in any fit state to patrol. Happy?”

Your chin wobbles: not in the least bit happy. But Abby can be cold if it’s what you want. Honestly, she doesn’t have the energy to spell it out for you, not when she was so vulnerable just now and you met her with this.

“Will you tell Isaac to bench me?” you whisper. 

“Do you want me to? Because it feels like you do.”

“No, of course not…”

“Then what? What do you want? Because I told you what I want, and you’re not listening.”

Your fingers pause their fidgeting, as though only just registering her earlier words. “I want to take back everything that’s happened since last night. I… I’ve made a mess. I’ve embarrassed myself, and I’ve hurt you, and I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Abby. I don’t know…” You press your lips together, swollen and chapped. She still wants to kiss them. Will always want to kiss them. “God, I’m so, so sorry. If you hadn’t made it… I thought you were gone for a minute. I thought you were really gone, and it was so terrifying. And it was my fault. And I can’t take it back. I want to take it all back.” 

You dig your palms into your eyes, tilting your head to the ceiling. Abby tries to sit up, to reach you, but it hurts and she’s dizzy and so, so fucking confused. 

She says your name, soft as a prayer and with twice as much reverence. “Come here,” she begs.

You hesitate, then finally kneel beside her low cot, still unable to look at her. She tilts your face, thumb lightly tipping your chin up so you’re forced to meet her eye. All she sees there is pain and guilt, and she wants to chase it away. Doesn’t know how. 

The memory of your voice breaking through the fog, through the pain, rises to the surface. Don’t do this to me. You gotta stay. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. Your trembling hands in your hair, your lap cushioning her head. You hauled her through blocks, kept her going even when the life was leaving her.

It’s what gives her the courage to say, “I’m right here, sweetheart. I’m fine, okay? We were going to lose that fight either way. We were outnumbered. How you felt, it wouldn't have made a difference.”

“Don't do that. Don't lie. I slowed you down,” you croak. “I was useless out there. I almost lost you—”

“You didn’t. I’m here. You kept me here.” She brushes a tear from your face. “You did everything right.”

“No.”

“Yes,” she urges, and rests her forehead against yours. All of this pain writhing across your features… she doesn’t know what to do with it. All the loathing, it makes her hate herself just for letting it touch you. “You can’t do this to yourself. We’ve lost people before. We lose people everyday. It happens sometimes. It's... It's a war, right?”

“I can’t lose you.” Your sob is guttural, and you cup her jaw like it’s the only thing keeping you from drowning. 

“You didn’t, sweetheart. It's okay, now," she says again, and again, and again, as many times as you need to hear it. And then your noses brush, and your lips find hers, and she realises it was inevitable. These feelings she’s run from were always going to catch up. She loves you, and you’re so, so stupid for not seeing it. 

Your breath hitches with every taste of her, and despite all the pain, she feels a pressure swelling from her chest all the way down to her core. She’s full of you, intertwined with you, and why couldn’t you have just seen it?

“Abby,” you whisper when you pull away, lips parted and pink. 

“Last night,” she whispered, “you said you’re in love with me.”

The tips of your ears burn crimson. “Shit.”

“Did you mean it? Because I mean it. When I say it’s you I want, not Owen, not anyone else, I fucking mean it, and I need to know...”

“I… I meant it, but—”

“Shut up. Don’t say but. There isn’t a but.”

“But you never… I didn’t think you…”

“Stop. Listen to what I’m saying for once. I love you, and if taking an arrow is what it takes for us to fucking talk about it, I’d do it again. A hundred times.”

And then you’re kissing her again, and she tastes your tears, feels your pulse rocketing through her like gunfire.

“You need to tell Owen to go the fuck home,” she says, and you laugh against her lips. “Idiot.”

“I’m—”

She puts her finger over your lips before you can say sorry, because she doesn’t want to hear it again. Not ever. All she wants is to keep making you laugh. Take care of you. Watch you take care of her. 

“Just get me out of here so I can take you home,” she begs.