☽ the messy labyrinth ☾

updates!

15.09.2023 hi! i am indeed still alive (and very much active on here), i’ve just had some big girl stuff to deal with these past few months but i’m hoping to get back into writing some odd posts soon. i’m not sure which post will come out first but hopefully you all enjoy it, much love xoxo

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marvel - dr stephen strange

dr. strange’s apprentice - wanda maximoff/the scarlet witch

wanda’s daughter

- moon knight

priestess (marvel Moon Knight Khonshu x f reader) part 1 part 2 part 3 [COMING SOON...]

the midnight shift at the museum (marvel Moon Knight x f reader) part 1 part 2

- daredevil

pink silks a helping hand her voice #mattdad (marvel Matt Murdock + f ballet dancer reader) black, part 1 red, part 2

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study sessions (modern au) why the bad batch are grateful for you wrong place, right time? (bad batch NYE special) intel gathering (bad batch meeting you)

chaos walking (sw:tbb x f chaos magic user) part 1 part 2 part 3 [NEW]

tracked (sw:tbb hunter x f reader) part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 [NEW]

- the mandalorian

why the mandalorian is grateful for you ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

fallout

- fallout: new vegas

the sands of Zion (joshua graham x f courier reader) part 1 part 2 part 3  part 4 [NEW! NOV 2023]

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other :) - gladiator ii princess from afar (marcus acacius x f princess reader) [NEW! 2024] - criminal minds

the funny little things (Dr. Spencer Reid x f BAU reader) [NEW!]

- detroit: become human shutdown [COMING SOON...]

- the walking dead game

the library (S1 lee + clem) - aot

levi ackerman’s love language headcanons

- reiner braun how you ended up married to Reiner Braun  when Paradis attacked

Your visit to Rome under its new twin Emperors has been eventful. 

Your father and brothers were too occupied in your homelands to go themselves, leaving you as the sole candidate. Your father assured you plenty of times prior to departure that you were a perfect choice. Well-versed in languages and histories, practised in the arts and skills of diplomacy. You already had everything you needed to make it a successful visit, and establish a favourable relationship with Rome. Initially you had been nervous, understandably, your country’s standing with the most powerful empire on the planet came down to this visit, it weighed on your shoulders. But, upon arrival, the entire court of Rome, its government and its Emperors were inexplicably fascinated with you. Whether it was your beauty, which they had never witnessed before, or your personality or talents you could not say. Upon realising the hold you had over your hosts, you played everything to your advantage.

Dinner parties, festivals, meetings, trips into the city, you did it all with a smile and impeccable appearance. You had been accompanied by some of your loyal ladies, of course, who worked their magic each and every morning to ensure a flawless appearance greeted the court of Rome. You were mastering the art of diplomacy and playing your part, it was perfect. Then came the Colosseum. You were personally invited by one of the twin Emperors, Geta, to sit by his side and watch battles of all manner take place. Intrigued, as you did not have such a thing back home, you agreed. At first, you were shocked by the barbarity of it all, but upon seeing the joy it brought the crowds of spectators and the purpose it gave the fighters… you understood that it was another moving part of Rome and her empire. So, you applauded and followed the Emperor’s lead, which he loved. He was constantly seeking your company and favour, you felt yourself walking a dangerous line of a marriage proposal should you entice him too much. Such a thing would delight your father, but you weren’t so keen on your safety if you ever married the Emperor. There was just something about these types of men that made you keep your guard up.

After a few of these battles in the Colosseum, you grew to understand the addictiveness of watching and betting and waiting to see who came out on top. Some days wild beasts were released, other days it was man against fellow man. You saw enough blood and grime and hurt to last you a lifetime, but smiled through all of it when the Emperor glanced at you, grinning wildly. You had grown used to the intricacies of the glorious gladiator battles, and attended even when Geta had not personally sought you out to extend the invitation, as he now simply expected your presence at his side. It was on one of the Colosseum days that your visit would become even more intriguing.

You arrived that day fresh-faced, hair immaturely arranged, dress clean and jewellery gleaming in the sun. You had bathed in rose petals the night before and the smell danced around you as you greeted the Emperor and took your seat next to him. He kissed your hand, making eye contact with you before turning his attention to the Colosseum. The crowds were filling their seats, rows and rows of them all packed in trying to get a favourable view of the promised entrainment. A set of heavy footsteps behind made you turn your head, and you saw a man in white and gold, a sword at his hip, enter the Emperor’s box. You stood, a feeling deep down telling you that this man was important, as he approached. You had not noticed the spare seat next to the Emperor today, you should’ve known someone else was coming. The wide-shouldered, bronze-skinned man could’ve easily been mistaken for one of Rome’s Gods, you thought, watching him greet the Emperor. Then, the Emperor gestured to you.

“The beautiful Princess from afar, General Acacius. Isn’t she a sight to behold?” The Emperor’s eyes roved up and down your dress, and you feigned embarrassment. The General took your hand and kissed it, bowing respectfully as he did.

“Princess, forgive me. I was not informed of royalty accompanying the Emperor today. Do you mind if I join you both today for the entertainment?” You smiled prettily, eyes on his.

“Please, General, I am but a guest, you are Rome’s commander. Be welcome.” He nodded, taking his seat on the other side of Emperor Geta after you had sat yourself. Your hand was tingling with excitement from where he’d held and kissed it. For such a large, muscled man, he had a gentle touch. And he was so well dressed, rivalling yourself in his white and gold. He had golden leaves woven into his hair, brunette but speckled with grey. His beard was neat, trimmed. Your eyes lingered on his nose, a masterpiece carved by the Roman Gods themselves, surely. Your breath caught in your chest and you remembered yourself, fixing your attention on the Colosseum before you.

Though you tried to not give the handsome General too much attention, you felt his eyes lingering on you all the same.

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The fights were over, the crowds appeased, the sand of the Colosseum soaked with patches of blood and a few bodies. Geta had grown bored of the day and declared a feast to be held in the evening, all should attend. He swept away, guards following, and left you in the box bowing at his exit. The General’s warm eyes met yours when Geta was gone and he half-smiled.

“I suppose you shall be in attendance tonight, Princess from afar?” He asked, one hand on his sword, the other resting atop it.

“Of course, General. Will I see you there? You must be a busy man.” You replied, walking out of the box, holding your skirts up to take the steps.

“I will make my best efforts to attend, your Grace.” He bowed as you left, watching you go. He couldn’t fathom your existence, such beauty all in one person, such grace and softness. How could any man send you this far away on your lonesome? He gripped his sword hilt before relaxing and following you up the steps.

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You took to napping that late afternoon, then gossiped away with your ladies. They had just finished embroidering a gown that your father had sent along as a gift, and insisted that you wear it to please the Emperor tonight. They knew all of the goings on within the Emperor's palace, and for that you were thankful. They took out your hair, and agreed that a looser style would suit the intimacy of the evening feast. Precious gemstones were pinned into your hair, a reminder of your status as a Princess. The gown was arranged and fastened, you wore light slippers on your feet. Once the ladies had decided on appropriate jewellery and makeup, they finished by spritzing you with fresh rose water and then escorted you to the feast themselves. They, sadly, would not be joining you but would instead be waiting for you upon your return. You thanked them for their efforts, and they waved you into the dining hall, where the court was drinking and conversing in the candlelight as the feast was brought out.

Emperor Geta spotted you immediately. You obliged him and joined him in conversation with many different nobles and members of the court, though your Italian was good, sometimes you found some words did not quite translate in your head. You nodded instead and glanced at Geta with a radiant smile and a polite laugh if appropriate. You excused yourself for food and a wine refresh, glad for a moment alone where your brain could rest from translating entire sentences. Your smile dropped for just a moment and you wandered out to a balcony for real fresh air. Elbows leaning on the immaculate stone, you sipped your wine, staring out at the night sky and wondering if your family were awake or asleep back home. Were they thinking of you? You were thinking of them, always. When would it be time to go home? You put your goblet down and sighed, realising that you had put off these homesick thoughts by throwing yourself into life here in Rome.

“Princess,” You straightened up at the sound of someone’s voice approaching from the dining hall, then smiled in slight embarrassment when you saw the General carefully making his way out onto the balcony. “Peace and quiet at last.” He smiled, taking a place next to you on the balcony. He held no wine and carried no sword this time. He had changed into less golden attire, but it still made him look like a God disguised as a human.

“General Acacius, a pleasure to see you tonight.” You curtseyed and he bowed deeply, then took your hand and kissed the back lightly. His brown eyes caught you watching him with wonder on your face. “You are well versed in the ways of nobility and court, I am pleasantly surprised.” You said, trying to fill the air between you both. There was something about how he watched you so calmly, coolly, it set your insides alight.

“When you find yourself surrounded by certain types, you adapt.” He replied, leaning on the balcony with one arm, facing you.

“Not so different from a battlefield, I suppose?” You sipped your wine, eyes meeting his. He shook his head.

“Life is a battlefield, Princess, for everyone. Do you not find all of this a constant battle?” He glanced at the rowdy dining hall. You turned and made sure Geta wasn’t staring daggers at you, but he was nowhere to be seen. The crowd had grown somehow, and the feast was almost gone. You considered it all for a moment, before answering.

“I do see how one could view it as a battlefield, but I would not see myself as a warrior.” The General’s eyes widened, he grinned.

“I see you as a warrior, Princess, a valuable warrior. Do not diminish yourself, you may not be wielding a sword above your head, but your mind is just as sharp. I have heard stories of your visit so far, they love you. I fear you will never leave.” Though he meant it as humour, the thought of never leaving made you feel sick.

“Do you think I will ever go home?” You asked, suddenly desperate to hear someone say it. He searched your face, standing tall.

“Of course. You have a family awaiting your return, do you not?” The General’s hands folded before him. You nodded. “Who awaits you in your faraway land, Princess?” He asked, softly. You smiled at the stars.

“My father and brothers, General. You would enjoy them, if they ever visit.” The General stepped closer, admiring your little smile as you spoke of your family. His big hands took your wine from you and set it down. “He won’t keep me here will he?” You asked in a whisper, almost too scared to say it aloud. General Acacius studied your features for a heartbeat, then another. He could see the sadness hidden deep in your eyes, something many had never noticed in your time here. He saw the falter of your smile at the corner of your lips, even if for a moment. He had only met you hours before, but he found himself growing fond of you, the idea of you staying, but he knew it would only deepen your sadness.

“No, he is obsessive at times, but he will let you go. Your father would cross the seas for you, would he not, if you did not return?” You nodded and a little tear escaped your tired eyes. You wiped at it quickly, taking your wine from the General with a smile. You finished it and sighed.

“I think I shall retire for the evening, we are due back in the Colosseum tomorrow, are we not?” He stepped back, giving you space, and bowed. You curtseyed back, and he watched you reenter the dining hall. You slipped through the high energy crowd, making small apologies and nodding politely when they noticed you. Acacius wished he had told you to call him Marcus, he would tell you tomorrow, at the Colosseum.

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You took the long way back to your rooms, meandering around corners and admiring the architecture. You had so much to tell your father and brothers when you got back, you were hoping you remembered it all. Maybe writing it down somewhere would help empty your mind of all these thoughts of home? You saw your room at last, and slipped off your satin sippers. Picking them up, you heard a scuffle down the hallway. It was all darkness beyond your door, shadows seemed to move up there… No, it was the wine talking. You slowly stood, shoes in hand, hand to your head. Maybe forgoing wine in the future would be wise. You lay one hand on the door to open it, but felt the floor go out from under you, your weight was flung over and you were resting on someone’s shoulder. They started to run away from your door, so you screamed. You dropped your slippers as your kidnapper turned a corner, you heard your door open and your ladies' voices.

“Help me!” You called out again, before pairs of light, fast footsteps began following your screams. You struggled to free yourself from the grip of the person carrying you, they were turning corners and taking passageways you had never seen before. You kept screaming, but your ladies couldn’t catch up. They lost you, calling out your name and crying. You were thrown from the shoulder of your kidnapper to the floor, it was dark and dim down here in the bowels of the Emperor’s palace, the night air was cool. You felt your elbows gaze against tiles. Your kidnapper bent down, forcing a rag over your face, you struggled, nails digging into their wrist but with one inhale you lost all control of yourself and went dark.

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Sunlight streaming in on your face woke you up. It was bright, hot, you felt dry and sick. Pushing yourself up, you saw that you were chained in a cell, and could hear crowds roaring outside. Your head rolled, but finally steadied itself against the stone wall behind you. Your eyes were adjusting to daylight, you felt awful. You had just begun to recall the events of the night before when the sound of your cell unlocking and the appearance of a gladiator caught your attention.

“Good afternoon Princess. Ready for your grand entrance?” He smirked, hauling you up by your shoulder and forcing you to walk out of the cell. He steered you through small passageways, dimly lit except for stray rays of sunlight, you passed other cells with men chained up in corners. Your heart dropped, you were underneath the Colosseum. Was this the Emperor’s doing? Had he ordered you kidnapped for leaving the feast early without his permission? Had the General feigned friendliness only to arrange your kidnapping last night? You came to a room where all light was blocked by a gate, weapons were carelessly discarded, armour too. “Drink this, we can’t have you giving a bad performance for your Emperor.” Water was tipped down your throat, it spilt over your lips and down your neck, onto your dress.

“Did he order this?” You demanded, finding your voice. The gladiator’s eyes were dark, evil. He looked you up and down before speaking.

“No, it’s our little surprise to him, so put on a good show for us, Princess.” He approached the gate and banged with his fist three times, you heard the sound of hinges creaking, and sunlight filled the room. The gladiator hauled you up the slope and out into the very Colosseum you had been presiding over yesterday. The crowds were cheering wildly, unaware of who had just entered their arena. The gate slammed shut behind you, and you turned around, banging on it with chained fists.

“I have no quarrel with yourselves, or the Emperor, let me out of here at once!” You shouted, back to the gate. No voice came from the other side, your heart sank again. Hands chained and head on a swivel, you ran out to the centre of the Colosseum, hoping, praying that the Emperor would recognise you and order you saved.

You saw Geta stand, leaning over the Emperor’s box, then he started shouting. Movement in his box gave you a glimmer of hope that someone was coming to get you out of here alive. But then, the gates behind you opened again, and a stream of armoured men ran out, banging their armour and showing off their weapons. The crowd went berserk. You fell to your knees, realising your fate, and kept your eyes trained on the Emperor’s box. You thought of your father’s face when he was told the news by a prim and powdered envoy from Rome that his daughter had been slaughtered in the Colosseum. You prayed for good lives for your brothers, that they raise strong families that look after your homeland. The tears had started and you couldn’t stop them. You were hauled from your knees, your dress ripping and forced to stand.

“The Princess from afar will die for your entertainment today!” One of the gladiators yelled, displaying you to the crowds. Their cheers died down, and a ripple of confusion passed through them. You were released, and encircled by a half a dozen armoured gladiators with bloodthirsty expressions on their grimy, unshaven faces.

“You gain nothing from my murder, gladiator.” You spat, the anger beginning to take over. They laughed and brandished weapons of all manner. Swords, nets, daggers, tridents. “How can any of you stand there and murder a defenceless, chained woman, in full armour with sharp weapons in your hands? Have you no honour, no bravery? You fear a woman so greatly she must be killed in chains and unarmed? Cowards, all of you, a disgrace to your brothers!” You yelled, hoping that the words would buy you time. A few of the gladiators seemed uneasy as you spoke. Then, one strode forward, grabbed your chains and used his sword to shatter the link. Still cuffed, but now free to move your hands, he backed away, eyes on yours. “There is one brave enough to approach amongst you, at least.” You shook your hands and let the chains fall to your bare feet, burning in the sand.

A beat of hesitation from the others passed, before one gave in and ran at you, roaring. He held a long sword above his head, clad in armour, taller and broader than you. All you could see was one of your brothers charging at you with their wood practice swords as children, pretending to spear you rather than save you. You stood there, ready to greet death without the satisfaction of screaming or wailing, but at the very last moment you threw yourself aside and he missed. The crowd went up in a frenzy. His sword struck the sand and he looked over his shoulder at you, eyes tearing into yours.

Maybe you had decided not to die here.

He ran again, and you did the same, but you knew these gladiators were wise in strategy and learned their opponents' ways fast. He started swinging his sword at you, giving you little time to move out of the way, he caught your upper arms or dress where you were too slow, drawing thin lines of blood across your skin. Seeing the red made him hungry for more, and he did not relent in his attacks. You used the metal cuffs on your wrists to stop his sword taking your head off of your neck, and he grunted in anger, stepping back. The crowd were in uproar. He twirled his sword in his hand, idly, thinking as he surveyed you. You spotted a shorter sword sheathed on his hip, it would be madness to try and take it, he’d surely kill you at that distance, but you needed a weapon. You stood no chance of making it out alive or surviving until rescue if you had no weapon, you could only dodge and weave for so long, the other gladiators would be fiercer, more brutal, they were building up their stamina minute by minute.

The long sword narrowly grazed your side, you cried out and pressed a hand to your dress. It was torn open, bloodied already. Your hand came away red, your eyes widened. The gladiator’s shoulders were rolling, he wanted to land another hit. You had an idea, a wild one, but it would get you close to the short sword. You had to do it just right, you moved slower, hand pressed to your injured side. He swung again, missing, a second time, missing again. The third time you let him catch you again, and you went to your knees, crying out. The crowd booed, outraged. He grinned, ecstatic at the thought he was the first to face you and have you down on your knees injured, he approached, sword wet with your blood. His hand grabbed your chin, lifting it up to face him, you started up the tears again. “Just make it quick, you brute.” You hissed, panting. He grinned like a devil, lifting up his long sword, but as he went to swing down, you had his short sword unsheathed and drove it upwards to a gap where his chest armour didn’t cover his abdomen.

A wet sound, he stumbled, dropped the sword, took bumbling steps backwards. His face was a picture of shock, he fell dramatically onto his back, blood rushing from his new wound. You picked up the long sword, its weight foreign in your hand, and backed away from the body. The other gladiators all looked at one another in silence. The crowd, however, were anything but. You stood, eyeing up the five remaining gladiators. They watched their brother die and squirm, before looking back to you. Though they did seem reluctant to be the next to face you, they all closed in, weapons gleaming in the sunlight. Then the gate behind you opened, the one under the Emperor’s box. They all paused, and you half-turned to watch.

General Acacius came striding out, armoured up, sword in hand, the expression on his face was one carved from marble by the Roman Gods of war and death. His anger rolled across the Colosseum, his muscles strained as he stalked towards you and the five gladiators. He said nothing as he reached you, he did not spare you a glance, he made a straight-cut line for the remaining gladiators.

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Despite the fact you were openly bleeding from several cuts, your dress was a mess and you were devoid of your sunny smile, General Acacius was focused solely on the gladiators. You watched as the once reluctant men now fired themselves up with the promise of a real fight. But before you could run to the open gates, they encircled you and the General together, forcing you to back away from your escape route. The General surveyed the gladiators with a disgusted expression, and then it all happened at once.

All five gladiators charged, two at you, three at the General. While you had no doubts about the General’s capability to survive, you seriously doubted yours. You had no time to get any words out before one of the two was upon you, bringing a trident down, you raised your long sword with two hands and barely held him off, nearly going down to one knee with the effort. He backed away, the sharp prongs of the trident begging to be buried into flesh. Mouth dry, you watched the two gladiators exchange a look before the one wielding a long sword charged, you met him, not blow for blow but enough to keep him off of you. The General had already downed one of his gladiators and was onto the second and third. The crowd were cheering, chanting, stampeding in their seats. The trident flew past your head, landing in the General’s field of battle. Without hesitation, he picked it up, threw it back and met his attacker swiftly with his sword, never missing a beat. The trident had pinned the gladiator who owned it down, lodged in his arm, he struggled against the prongs. You felt sick.

The long sword came down at you again, you threw yourself out of the way, too tired to meet it with your own sword again. Your arms bled and ached from the weight of this weapon, you did not possess the same muscles as these men. You were not trained in the art of war, fighting other humans, or wielding weapons. Your brothers had tried to train you as children but your father had quickly intervened and warned them that you had no use for such things, as they would always be there to protect you. You wished dearly now that you had continued attending your brothers’ training sessions against your father’s orders. The sword narrowly missed your chest, you were shaking with the effort to breathe and move and fight all at the same time. You weren’t even sure your heart was still beating.

Your sword met his again, he was getting bored, tired of playing nice. You had to meet his blows to protect yourself, as tiring as it was. Your eyes scoured his armour for weak spots, a glimpse of vulnerable flesh… nothing. You took a few quick steps back, gaining distance, and time to think. Then the General downed his third gladiator, and turned to spot you warding off yours. The General advanced, sword slick with blood, but not before the gladiator rushed you and knocked you off your feet. He was atop you, sword poised to go through your chest, but not before you drove yours through his neck. The angle had given you the advantage, just. He rolled off of you, clutching at his neck, gargling on his own blood. He drowned before you, red spilling from his mouth and neck. His hands were covered in his own hot sticky blood, his eyes open as he died. You stood, covered in his blood, and watched as the General finished off the final gladiator who was pinned beneath his own trident like a fish.

You threw your sword aside, disgusted, horrified, on the verge of tears. General Acacius sheathed his own sword and ran to you. Without a word, he had you up in his arms, his nose in your hair.

“Are you hurt, Princess?” He asked, his voice low. You could barely make it out over the crowd’s collective cheering and celebrating.

“A little, General.” You said, clinging to his armour. He held you tight, making for the gate.

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The Roman court and government were in an absolute outrage at your kidnap and torture in the Colosseum. Both of the Emperors ordered the gladiators and slaves brought before them to find the one behind it, but you were too sick to care. Whoever had been behind it had got their way, you were thoroughly shamed and defeated. You had survived, but at what cost?

The General took you straight to the physician. He stayed guarding the room as your wounds were cleaned, packed and dressed. Your beautiful embroidered dress was cut away, to be thrown on the fire. It was soaked in gladiator blood. You watched the General pace the room, hand gripping his sword, jaw set. It took time for the physician to do his work, but he was finally satisfied and allowed you to rest. The General, however, did not leave when the old physician did. He let you settle before speaking to you. You sat yourself up in the bed, thin sheets over your battered body. You had accumulated some nasty bruises from throwing yourself out of harm’s way.

“Princess…” He said softly, kneeling at your bedside. You looked at him with tear-stained eyes and a weak smile. “I will find who did this, they will pay. We will have their heads.” He said this with his head bowed, as if in prayer. You leaned down to him, your fingers lifting his chin. Your eyes met.

“You saved my life, Acacius, that is enough.” His eyes took you in, he thought of you as a star robbed of its starlight. A rose shaken free of its petals.

“Please call me Marcus, Princess.” You breathed deeply for a moment and nodded.

“Marcus, do not let your bloodlust cloud your judgement. I am alive, and I am grateful for that. I will return home when I am well.” His hands took yours, and he traced the back of them for a moment. The words hung in the air, unseen, unheard.

“Will you ever return to Rome?” He asked, holding your fingers out.

“I do not know, when my father hears of this… I could not say if I will be permitted to return one day, Marcus.” Your untidy hair fell in your face, finally freeing itself of its gemstone pins from the night before. Marcus reached up, gingerly placing the hair behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, as if he was scared you would shatter at any moment. He said nothing as he memorised the lines on the palm of your hand, red and sore from the long sword’s handle and weight. You sank further into the bed, watching him, his face. You wanted to paint it and frame it in your bedchambers at home, so you would never forget what he looked like.

He then placed the softest kiss on the back of your hand, then your wrist. Your body lit up like a bonfire, like the moon and stars on a dark night, and he looked up at you.

“If you do not return, will you let me remember you?” He asked, taking in the faded scent of rose from your wrist. It was washed away by sweat and blood and hot water now, but he knew it lingered, lest it be his imagination.

“I would want you to remember me, as I will remember you.” You replied eventually, he appeared relieved at this, and suddenly raised himself up to your bed, inches above you. He paused, eyes flickering to your lips, then back to your eyes, your hair. “Do it, I will not regret it.” You whispered, eyes on his lips. With all of the care in Rome, he gave you your first and last kiss, he touched your hair, the side of your face. When he pulled away, he looked down, eyes avoiding yours. “When I go, will you see me?” You asked, voice tight.

“I would not miss it for the world, Princess from afar.” He quickly kissed your head, your wild hair, before withdrawing from your bed and taking himself out of your room.

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You would see him once more when you departed for home with your ladies. Emperor Geta made a grand show of escorting you to the docks and seeing you board your ship bound for your homeland. It had been such a long time, it felt, since you had seen your father and brothers. Geta was sending you with heaps of gifts and treasures for your family, partly as a show of your efforts, and partly as an apology for your kidnap. When the General approached to say his goodbye, kissing your hand firmly with eyes closed, he slipped you something, which you hid down the front of your dress and didn’t open until the ship was sailing.

In your hands now lay a simple gold chain with the retrieved gemstones from your hairpins dangling from it. You smiled to yourself and slipped the necklace on, closing your eyes and wondering if one day you would return to Rome and see him again.

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since your conversation about Caesar, Joshua Graham had been watching you closely. you hadn’t mentioned or even inferred anything about Caesar since, treating the name like a fatal curse if spoken aloud. you seemed sober compared to how Joshua saw you before that conversation. where you’d take the time to talk with the Dead Horses each day and learn new words, now you stayed quiet and only spoke when spoken to. in Angel’s Cave you avoided others, and politely regarded Joshua when he was nearby. you spent days doing nothing, sleeping in your bed or walking up and down the river.

it was as if merely talking about Caesar had taken the very spirit from you. and Joshua hated it. every day he awoke hoping that his prayers had been answered to find you back to your old self, but each day that passed he found himself losing faith in his God. if ghosts were real, then he was watching one walk around his camp that looked remarkably like you. Follows-Chalk had made several attempts at communicating with you, but nothing could get your mind off of the evil that was Caesar waiting for you back in the Mojave. how his assassins hadn’t made it here yet you didn’t know, and it made you overly paranoid. they could be watching, waiting in the shadows, seeing how far you could get before they grabbed you. you’d refused to leave the camp for anything that wasn’t immediately life or death business, and it was beginning to irritate the Dead Horses. if they got that annoyed with you, they could show you the way home and you’d never bother them again. but, there was still the problem of the White Legs to deal with before any of the inhabitants of Zion would show you the way home, so you had to deal with it soon. one day, amidst your paranoia, you awoke to loud, shouting voices coming from outside of Angel’s Cave. you didn’t decipher any of the speech clearly at first, then you heard your name being thrown around. darting out of bed, you grabbed your rifle, forgoing your trench coat or outdoor clothes, and burst out into the sunlight in your sleeping clothes. Follows-Chalk was stood against a group of Dead Horses members, attempting to placate them as they stared at you with anger in their eyes. Joshua was nowhere to be seen. your eyes scanned the river before you lowered your rifle. “what is all of this about?” you asked quietly, though you feared you knew anyway. “we can talk about this in a calm way–” Follows-Chalk began, but the voices rose against him faster than he could handle. you picked out a few words, and understood that they were complaining of your idleness in the recent weeks, and the threat of the White Legs you were meant to be aiding Joshua in eliminating. your lips pressed together in mild embarrassment, but you really could care less, because they had no idea who Caesar was and what he was going to do to you the moment this war was over. “send her to the White Legs if she’s so scared of them! we are ready to fight them, why won’t Joshua Graham make the move?” one woman yelled, anger distorting her features. the funny thing was that all of these women had braided your hair, taught you words and shared their food with you a handful of times before. now you were their worst enemy, save the White Legs. Follows-Chalk was doing his best, but you knew he was no match for angry women. the men stood further back, shooting you disapproving glares. they’d seen you as one of them many times, but now you were no better than a child. you put a hand on Follows-Chalk’s arm, and his worried eyes met your dead ones. you nodded and he stepped back, closing his mouth. you faced the group, eyeing up each one. “if you want to move against the White Legs, I will speak to Joshua Graham.” your words only did the bare minimum to quiet their anger. at the rise of more voices, you held up a hand. “do not forget that it has been me who has rescued one of your children, defeated dozens of your enemies and fought for all of you with my life many times over.” your voice was raised, built on a foundation of disbelief at their words. “I will finish this war, but not if you disrespect me any further. am I clear?” they all went silent, watching you. “am I clear?” you yelled, snapping. the women’s heads dropped and they moved back. the men bristled at your tone. “be ready to fight with your lives, if you can do that.” you looked at each one of them in the eyes, and felt every one of them staring into your soul. Follows-Chalk followed you quietly into Angel’s Cave as you sighed and held in a desperate scream of frustration. you barely remembered the last few weeks, it had been a big blur of nonsense. you’d finally realised how soon you were going to face Caesar and lose your life in the process, and yes, you had others depending on you, but they didn’t know half of what your life had been. “do you know where Joshua is?” you asked Follows-Chalk, as you unpacked your belongings in preparation for the fight of your life, which would soon be overshadowed by the fight you’d bring to Caesar. “he is making final preparations for the attack, or at least that is what he told me.” you nodded, smoothing your hair away from your face and sighing heavily. “thank you for trying to save my reputation back there,” you said, “it wasn’t worth it but at least they’ll fight alongside me now.” Follows-Chalk was at your side, a worried look on his sweet face. his hand rested on your shoulder. “what troubles you, Courier? you have been a ghost since...” Follows-Chalk didn’t finish his sentence because footsteps approached. your heads both swivelled to meet the owner, and it was Joshua. he seemed surprised to see you up and awake, organising your things nonetheless. “we can talk later.” Follows-Chalk eyes searched yours for any hint of a smile, and even though you faked one, it didn’t fool him. he’d grown to know much about you personally since meeting you, and that smile wasn’t like the ones he’d seen from you before. he walked away, feeling something uneasy about you. ••●••••●••••●•• you filled Joshua in on the near-uprising against you, and he agreed that a move against the White Legs was looking favourable. you both stood at his desk, moving around it as you mapped out the White Legs territory from several scout reports. Joshua didn’t mention your behaviour recently, he was just satisfied that his prayers had been answered at last, and content to be enjoying your company once again. you went back and forth all evening, hypothesising the best formations and plans. you briefly paused the debates to make dinner and start inventory of all the weapons available to the Dead Horses. there was a lot, the scouts had done well, and Joshua had tracked down some pre-War technology that had been made useful by tinkering and experimenting. the sun went down, and Joshua gave the order to be ready to move out at first light. you continued planning, poking holes in each other’s ideas, before you settled on one of Joshua’s plans. you liked it, it had the least chance of failure, and it would get you into the White Legs camp where you could do the most damage. the necessary Dead Horse members were informed of the plan, and you both tried to get some sleep. Joshua resorted to studying his holy book at some point in the night, and you had started to clean your rifle and organise your trench coat with its many pockets. neither of you spoke as you knew it would only serve as a temporary distraction from the real thing that would be upon you in a few hours. as the sky began to change with the rising sun, you both got changed and checked weapons one last time. you were attempting to braid your hair out of the way but it proved hard with a scattered mind. you gave up and let it sit behind your shoulders, sat on your old camping bed, when Joshua’s voice broke the silence of Angel’s Cave for the first time in hours. “may I...?” your eyes landed on him, and he was stood at the end of your bed, looking at your hair. you nodded and took off your hat, smoothing your hair down. he knelt behind you, taking your hair in three sections and beginning the braid. it was the simplest one, but it kept your hair out of your face. you sat there, staring at the walls of the cave and imagining your death. would a White Leg grab and slash your throat open? a stray bullet? an explosive? a brutal fist fight to the death? you didn’t even notice that Joshua was long finished the braid, and was still knelt behind you, just waiting. he was probably thinking, too. you turned around, facing him. the sight of him on his knees might’ve elicited a different reaction from you in a different life, but now it just made you sad. deeply and utterly sad. he looked up at you, and you looked down at him. “we’re losing time.” you said softly, feeling a strange knot in your throat. “we are.” Joshua watched as you stood up, slinging your rifle over your shoulder and leaving the cave. he stood, watching after you.

••●••••●••••●••

the atmosphere in the camp was different to that in the cave. where there’d been a sober silence broken only by a few meaningless words, out here there was a flurry of activity. shouts and chants rang out, splashing water, weapons colliding. last minute training and conversations went down at the same time, each Dead Horse member preparing in their own individual way to face the enemy. the elders and healers were blessing the warriors with marks and paint on their bare skin. some even began blessing the weapons held by the warriors, bathed in early morning light. you went to walk past the elders, who you assumed held dislike for you since your outburst yesterday, but one woman stopped you. she held out her hands, covered in paint, and you took off your hat, kneeling down for her. she was short and unassuming in appearance, but one look at her face told you that she’d seen more than you’d ever comprehend. her fingers danced over your face, making a mask of a warrior, and blessing you. she took your rifle from your hand and painted that too. a feeling of something you couldn’t quite explain went over you, like hands running through your hair, or a mother’s touch. suddenly, the old woman smiled, before turning away. she left you there feeling bewildered, strangely empowered, and ready to face the White Legs.

Joshua Graham had been watching the scene unfold from the entrance to Angel’s Cave. for some time now he had believed you to be a blessing sent by his God, or a divine being who he just happened to cross paths with. whatever you may end up being, he would spend the rest of his existence eternally grateful for you. the way you had accepted the Dead Horse tribe as your own, adhering to their customs and way of life so quickly. it may not have been your first port of call when you realised you were trapped here, but you soon realised what had to be done to survive, and Joshua could appreciate that.

he joined you by the river, taking the sight of you in before speaking.

“I see you have been blessed, by one of our oldest healers no less.” he could barely contain his urge to smile at you from beneath the bandages. you looked so proud for a moment, watching your reflection in the water. then you came back to reality. your brilliant eyes met his, and you looked away again.

“she does me a great honour, I can almost… feel her with me, or someone watching over me. maybe your God has time to watch over both of us today.” Joshua’s chest tightened when you spoke of his God.

“if He is willing, everyone here shall be watched over, and protected.” Joshua wanted to say more, but stopped himself. he could not let these feelings interfere with his mind right before battle. you were staring at the river water once again, then you spoke quietly.

“if He is indeed willing, we will live to wash in this river tomorrow. we all will.”

••●••••●••••●••

Joshua gave a short speech worthy of a war chief to the Dead Horses. those who would not be fighting would stay here, hidden in Angel’s Cave until either the return or retreat of the warriors and scouts of the Dead Horses. you stood there in silence, pushing the image of Caesar out of your mind and instead replacing it with that of the White Legs. they were your problem today, not some tyrant in the Mojave, which you had no feasible way of returning to yet. it hadn’t occurred to you that once this was over, you’d either be dead, kidnapped or alive and on your way home to the Strip to face Caesar. it felt horrible to admit, but you were starting to think which of the three options had the best outcome…

Joshua Graham was at the front of the crowd, leading the Dead Horses into battle. they gave off war cries and other unfamiliar sounds as you all waded up the river, but once out of the camp, silence fell like a blanket across each and every one of them. you were bringing up the rear, you and Joshua had agreed that it was best you stayed split up, for many reasons.  you recalled the conversation in question, one that had happened amongst the planning and strategising.

“and if one of us goes down?” you raised an eyebrow and Joshua leaned back in his chair.

“then we stay separate for the battle, as long as we can. should one of us fall, the other will assume command.” he offered up. that seemed satisfactory to you.

“alright, I’ll take the rear, you be up front.” you said, to which his eyes barely widened, but you still caught it. “what’s wrong with that?” you asked, leaning over the paper which detailed your plans and formations. Joshua watched you lean, and resisted the urge to touch your hair that was loose over your shoulder.

“I am simply surprised that you would volunteer to take the rear, that is all.” he replied, after taking his eyes off of you. he could watch you pour over battle plans and maps while sat on his desk until the day he died.

“well, you are the war chief. what good are you in the back?” you'd smiled at him before sketching in your position in charcoal on the paper. he’d watched you, imagining you on the battlefield the next day, victorious.

now, as you watched the Dead Horses march determinedly towards the White Legs camp, you wondered if Joshua had wanted you up front with him. would it have looked fiercer? more intimidating? perhaps, but your plans had been finalised last night, and this was not the time to go changing them. you instead counted your steps and watched the feet in front of you to distract you. so far the march had gone uninterrupted, but you had some distance before White Leg territory began. then you’d be in trouble.

••●••••●••••●••

Joshua Graham halted the march as you reached your destination. just past this trail was the last known White Leg camp, as reported by Dead Horse scouts days ago. this was it. you quickly worked your way up front to speak to Joshua. he seemed ready for battle, for war.

“Joshua, we haven’t seen a single White Leg, something isn’t right.” you whispered to him, mouth right next to his ear. he did not react to your worrying statement, but instead loaded his pistol. “Joshua, did you hear me?” you demanded, slinging your rifle down your shoulder.

“we cannot back down now, even if every single living White Leg is waiting for us in that camp. we fight here and now, God willing.” Joshua replied, not looking you in the eyes. you put a desperate hand on his arm. he went still.

“are you sure we can win this? if every single one of them is in there, armed to the teeth? with the high ground?” Joshua’s cold blue eyes finally met yours. his gaze felt entirely alien to you now.

“you aren’t abandoning the fight before it’s even began, are you, Courier?” you hold his gaze, but let go of his arm.

“I’d follow you almost anywhere, Joshua, but if this becomes a bloodbath, I beg of you… order them to retreat.” Joshua’s eyes slipped away from yours and down to his pistol.

“if this becomes a bloodbath, we won’t be on the wrong side.” with that, he raised his pistol in the air, rallying the Dead Horses. you ran back to the rear, shaking your head and sweeping sand from your hat. you loaded your rifle up, and followed Joshua Graham and his Dead Horses into the White Legs camp.

and it was a bloodbath. on both sides.

the second the White Legs realised what was happening, they had the jump on you. the Dead Horses fought hard and some, to the death, to advance into the main camp and start taking out the entirety of the White Legs tribe. you took out any sneaky attackers who attempted to cut you off from behind, but soon there were so many even you were struggling to drop them all with your rifle. close combat became the norm within minutes, and you were facing off against strong, bloodthirsty warriors with insane melee weapons. you couldn’t ever imagine the gangs in the Mojave fashioning these creations up, they lacked the imagination for one, and the sheer insanity for two. though many of the weapons you went up against seemed impractical, the White Legs wielded them with skill and ferocity that you hadn’t seen before. you started questioning if you were ever going to survive this. why didn’t Joshua hang back and think things through? why did he insist on charging in without knowing the odds? because he was Legion once, just like Caesar, and the arrogance of the Legion never truly leaves you. he is the Burned Man, of course he couldn’t wait to finish this war—

a loud boom, the earth shaking, you flying briefly then colliding with rock. hands on your throat, your rifle snatched from your arms. the White Legs had set off grenades, killing some of their own, but killing more of yours. coughing and sputtering against the warrior who had you by the neck, you kicked out, but they forced your legs apart and had you pinned hard against the canyon wall. it wasn’t a bad way to go, dying in battle, at least you died doing something worthwhile in this world. a clean shot entered and exited the warrior’s head, and you dropped to the sand. you didn’t have to look up to see who pulled that off, because he was already coming. he had you up on your feet, leaning on him, rifle back in hands. his voice was all around you, but you knew he was there, somewhere. you found your feet, standing up and letting go of him, and took aim.

one down. two, then three. Joshua snuck off, taking out more White Legs from behind. the Dead Horses were fighting bravely, taking on two or three White Legs at a time. you helped the best you could, dropping the odd White Leg warrior here and there. but soon you were spotted, and on the move again. knives in hand, you took as many White Leg melee fights as you could get. Joshua was still shooting somewhere across the camp, his shots evenly timed and most likely hitting their mark each time. Follows-Chalk spotted you across the camp, and made his way over, taking down White Legs as he went. for how soft he could be, he was downright lethal in battle. as he neared you, you realised with a start that he was covered from head to toe in blood. his markings were barely visible beneath.

“is the blood yours?!” you demanded, open-mouthed in shock.

“never mine!” he answered simply, moving you aside and clubbing a White Leg in the back of the head. a scream from somewhere made you freeze, and you saw a Dead Horse warrior die to a White Leg who wore a scary helmet and wielded a power fist. Follows-Chalk returned to your side, panting but still raging. “Salt-Upon-Wounds, the White Leg leader. you must kill him, without him they will die!” you were about to protest when a White Leg charged you, and took you to the ground. Follows-Chalk had him off of you in seconds, swinging his club with a war cry. you rolled out of the way, letting Follows-Chalk kill the White Leg, and took aim again with your rifle but Salt-Upon-Wounds was gone. he was just there. you scanned the battlefield with your scope, bloodshed was happening everywhere, but where was their leader?

“he’s gone! where is he?” you shouted to Follows-Chalk, but he was gone too. the ever-changing nature of battle meant you were now alone, again. you skirted around skirmishes and takedowns, reaching the spot where you’d first laid eyes upon this Salt man, but all he’d left behind was blood and death. the grisly sight of the Dead Horses falling on the battlefield hurt your soul. how would they ever carry out their after-death rituals if they lay abandoned on a cursed battlefield? you ducked reflexively as a machete narrowly missed your neck. one shot to the chest from below and your attacker fell, dead. your eyes scanned the camp again, raging with the sounds of war. you were sure that you’d never forget the sounds, even after returning to the chaos of the Strip.

an arrow whizzed past, just missing your face, you ducked down and ran, taking shelter behind a boulder. you aimed your rifle over the boulder, and spotted the archers hidden further in the camp, high up in the cliffs. that was why your warriors were falling so quickly, archers were picking them off! you steadied yourself and took aim again, within minutes all of the archers you could spot were dead, bodies hanging limp on the cliffs with single bullet holes in their heads. the Dead Horses began to fight back harder, now unburdened by arrows, and out for revenge for fallen brothers and sisters. you’d lost sight of Joshua a while ago, and Salt-Upon-Wounds had disappeared. you joined up with whichever Dead Horse you came across in battle, your kill count for the day reaching double digits. soon, the camp became a much smaller battlefield as the White Legs started backing themselves into corners.

you helped a Dead Horse member overpower a White Leg wielding a club, firing off another shot as another White Leg charged at you. they were getting desperate. they were beginning to fray. the Dead Horses were making a comeback, using the White Legs own weapons against them now. your eyes focused in on a flash of white becoming visible from the back of the camp, then your heart dropped into your feet. Joshua Graham was fighting Salt-Upon-Wounds, one-on-one, hand-to-hand.

••●••••●••••●••

you took aim, but the two were moving too wildly for you to confidently pull the trigger. you didn’t dare ask Joshua’s God for any more help, so you rallied the Dead Horses to you, and those who came were ready. you took them towards the back of the camp, flattening any White Legs that stood in your way. Salt-Upon-Wounds saw you approaching, and you went down to one knee, rifle aimed. Salt-Upon-Wounds held Joshua Graham by the neck, and God knows where his trusty pistols had gone. Joshua’s clear blue eyes bored into Salt-Upon-Wounds’s. your finger went to pull the trigger again, but Joshua was now in your sights, forced to stand before Salt-Upon-Wounds like a human shield. you lowered your rifle slowly.

“call off your warriors, or Joshua Graham dies!” Salt-Upon-Wounds announced, the battlefield stood still for the first time. you made a sound that told the Dead Horses to stand down, and they reluctantly did. “good girl. lower your weapons, all of you!” the remaining Dead Horses gathered around you did not move, instead they watched you. they were waiting for your move, and they would follow.

“do as I do, or we lose.” you whispered to them in their dialect, and it was passed around quickly. you threw your beloved rifle to the sand, and your knives, and the Dead Horses followed. they did not protest, they did it silently, they did it with you. for you. Salt-Upon-Wounds began walking towards you, still holding Joshua captive in his grip, a power fist on his free hand, already shiny with blood.

“you, outgirl, listen to me. I take Joshua Graham’s life, then the Dead Horses. then you will be for me, but not for kill.” Joshua’s eyes hardened but one look from you told him to not respond. his job was to focus on surviving Salt-Upon-Wounds right now.

“why not kill me?” you asked, lowering your hands and taking a step forwards. Salt-Upon-Wounds tightened his grip on Joshua. “do you know who I am, Salt-Upon-Wounds?” you let your hands rest on your belt. you could feel exactly what you needed.

“I see a outgirl who fights.” Salt-Upon-Wounds said after a moment, he was not big on talking, you realised.

“I am the Courier, I control the Strip in the Mojave and your leader, Caesar, wants me dead.” Salt-Upon-Wounds’s body tensed. “he is your leader, isn’t he?” Salt-Upon-Wounds threw Joshua to the sand, angry.

“Caesar… wants you. I give him you, and kill Joshua.” Salt-Upon-Wounds let Joshua’s shirt go, and raised the power fist. Joshua began to roll, you reached into your trusty belt, pulled out a small knife and launched it in Salt-Upon-Wounds’s direction. it landed in his face, he recoiled and stumbled backwards, yelling. you dove for Joshua, grabbing him and hauling him back towards the Dead Horses. the remaining White Legs watched in horror as Salt-Upon-Wounds was injured by an outsider. Follows-Chalk grabbed Joshua, but as you went to get up, you were dragged backwards.

you made fleeting eye contact with Follows-Chalk, then Joshua as you were flipped over by Salt-Upon-Wounds. the Dead Horses picked up their weapons as the remaining White Legs attacked. you saw the power fist coming, time slowed, Salt-Upon-Wounds pinned you down with his legs and yelled with pure rage as he brought the fist down. you reached up, twisting the small knife still embedded in his face. blood spurted out, showering you. you yanked the knife out, the shock gave you time to get it from under Salt-Upon-Wounds, but he was still bringing the power fist down.

you felt the dull heavy impact on your hand first. then the pain of your hand bones being shattered to pieces took over. your entire arm was throbbing from the impact. you were screaming but you couldn’t hear it. Salt-Upon-Wounds revelled in your pain, and raised the fist again. you clutched the small knife in the other hand, panting, tears forming in your eyes. he roared from above you, bringing the fist down in one big overhead swing. you whipped your good hand quick, and the knife flew. it skimmed the power fist and landed between Salt-Upon-Wounds’s eyes.

you were crying as Salt-Upon-Wounds’s stiff body went limp, the weight of the power fist dictating his fall. the power fist met the side of your head as you desperately tried to escape from under the now dead weight, and you were out cold.

••●••••●••••●••

Joshua stopped believing in his God right then and there. he was already up on one knee, but Follows-Chalk, fuelled by the fear of the power fist caving your face in, threw Salt-Upon-Wounds’s corpse off of you. the side of your face was open, blood pouring out. Follows-Chalk had his arms under you already, lifting you up and calling out for a healer. the surviving Dead Horses surrounded you, reaching out and touching your bare skin with their hands. a sign of respect, a collective hope that you would survive this gruesome injury and live to recount the battle around a campfire full of Dead Horse children, reunited with their families. Joshua’s mind was making his body move, but he had absolutely no awareness of it. it was as if someone else was taking charge of him physically as he worried about you.

Follows-Chalk sent any remaining Dead Horse scouts forward to call for the healers, the warriors remained with you, escorting those who had survived the battle back to the Dead Horse camp. Joshua walked in step with Follows-Chalk, eyes never leaving your body. he offered to take you from Follows-Chalk several times on the march home, but he refused, determined to get you home alive. healers came rushing up the river, war-torn bloodied scouts in tow. the old woman was there, stood in the river, a serious look on her face.

Follows-Chalk set you down in the river, holding you there so the old woman could examine you. she spoke harshly to her other healers in Dead Horse dialect, Joshua Graham listened but for the first time, he couldn’t translate the words in his head. the old woman bent down in the river, and her words seemed to move the water.

“the sky, the earth… we beg of you, as the blood of ours joins you, return her to us.” the other healers repeated the words, muttering under their breath, eyes closed. the old woman cupped her hands, pouring water over your open head wound. Joshua went to his knees watching the old healer work. the river welcomed him, he let it soak him through. Follows-Chalk also dropped to his knees gently in the river, copying the prayers of the healers.

soon, every Dead Horse member present was on their knees, praying and begging the land and sky to not take you from them. Joshua clasped his hands, rattling off one last prayer to his God. then, as the old woman’s worn hands touched your cold ones, a jolt of something went through you. all you really remembered was the hot blood streaming down your face, tainting your vision red. now you looked up and saw clear blue skies, white dancing clouds and felt the hold of the river all around you.

the old woman rejoiced as your eyes flickered open, everyone was relieved, thanking their ancestors’ spirits and the land and the sky for not taking you. mercy had been granted today, but it would likely not be granted again. Joshua slowly moved towards you, the river pulling him. he took you from the old healer’s hold, and sat you up out of the river. you looked around, surprised at being back in camp. hadn’t you just been facing Salt-Upon-Wounds...?

without another word, Joshua stood, carrying you up the river, and into the safety of Angel’s Cave. the healers did not use the same medicine that you were so used to in the Mojave, but Joshua was familiar with the basics. now that he had you alive, he intended to keep you that way. he carried you to his camp bed, carefully setting you down. he lit the campfire, taking off your wet clothes with as much dignity he could give you. he covered you in furs, then as your eyes danced in and out of consciousness, began stitching up the gash on your head. he knew it wouldn’t beat a surgeon’s steady hand and some anaesthetic, but it was better to close the wound rather than let it become infected.

he worked for hours, having to stop his hands from shaking each time you winced or moved your head away. he’d unravelled the bandages from his hands, leaving them exposed to the open air. he told himself that the constant tingle that soon felt like he was burning all over again, was nothing compared to this open wound on your head. you probably had one Hell of a headache too. he could really only pray that your brain had remained unscathed. he then carefully began to wrap your broken hand, though you had no real feeling down there and barely reacted.

Follows-Chalk, now clean of his enemies’ blood, came to see how you were getting on. Joshua had just about managed to finish the stitching to your head, if he ever forgot the sight of it, he’d be grateful. Follows-Chalk had the healers gather all of the herbs that could possibly help and brought them into the cave, Joshua had other ideas. he knew you’d found old world medicines in the Mojave, and often made more when out scouting for the Dead Horses. he told Follows-Chalk to search your bag, and he found the stash of Stimpacks.

Joshua hadn’t seen you use these in his presence. perhaps because you were trying not to invoke feelings of despair in him that no medicine would relieve his pain or mend his burns. Follows-Chalk, however, had seen you use these from time to time. admittedly, not often, but he knew how they worked.

“you push it into the skin,” he told Joshua, as you lay there, eyes closed and breathing shallow. “I think.” he added, absolving himself of any responsibility should this go wrong.

“I… I’ve seen this before, but rarely used them.” Joshua admitted. Follows-Chalk stared at the Stimpacks. another strange thing from beyond Zion.

“should we not use them?” Follows-Chalk asked, eyes lingering on your stitches.

“they’d help her…” Joshua began, when you opened your eyes and reached for the Stimpacks yourself. the two watched as you took one, jabbed it into your side, then removed it.

“done.” you sighed, handing it back to Follows-Chalk. “Follows, you’ve seen me use those before, don’t be scared of them.” you rolled onto your back and went to reach up to feel your stitches. Joshua’s hand caught your good hand and placed it back down to your side.

“I am no doctor, but we better leave those alone.” he said, thinking about how the stitches would turn out when they healed. if they healed. Follows-Chalk seemed to agree with the way he eyed up the stitches uneasily.

“there are no doctors left anymore anyway.” you mumbled, closing your eyes and rolling over to sleep. Joshua pulled the furs over you and stood up, clearing away his impromptu stitching kit. Follows-Chalk looked at you for a moment longer before standing, and approaching Joshua.

“Joshua Graham, I must ask you something.” Joshua paused, then turned to face Follows.

“what is it?” he asked, curious as to what Follows-Chalk could possibly have to ask him.

“when the Courier is recovered, I should be the one to take her back to the Mojave. do you think the same?” Follows-Chalk asked. Joshua was not expecting this question so he stalled for time by organising the medical inventory for a moment.

“I think that when the Courier leaves us, she should go alone once she reaches the Mojave.” Joshua said, giving Follows-Chalk a look. Follows-Chalk nodded, but in his head, he did not agree in the slightest. “she fell into our lives, and she has the right to walk back out as she arrived... alone.” Joshua knew he was lying to himself too, not just to Follows-Chalk. Joshua prayed for nothing more than to accompany you back to the Mojave and see how you live your life, but there was the not so small problem of the Legion, and your life did not have space for him… who knew who you had waiting for your safe return back on the Strip?

••●••••●••••●••

when you woke up, you had such a headache it made you sensitive to light and noise like some sort of mutated wasteland creature. Joshua had been asleep by the fire next to your camp bed, and when you sat up, holding your head, he came back to life. he brought you fresh water, handed you Stimpacks, ordered stacks of medicinal herbs from the healers. Follows-Chalk was in charge of the recovery of the fallen Dead Horses from the battle, so you didn’t see him for some time. you spent days in Angel’s Cave recovering, even then you weren’t sure you’d be fit to make the gruelling journey back to the Mojave anytime soon. your head hurt and your hand was still useless. Joshua felt both joy and despair at your predicament. he knew that you needed to get back to the Mojave soon, with Caesar and his Legion becoming an increasingly worrying problem, but when Joshua watched you sleep he saw your pained expression and knew you were in no fit state to travel. you barely moved your broken hand, he worried that it was beyond saving some days.

Follows-Chalk was surprised to see you still on the camp bed, huddled under the furs, stuck somewhere between heavy sleep and being consciously aware of the world. Joshua tried his hardest to get you to talk, drink water or even sit up, but each day you refused and fell back into a fitful sleep. it wasn’t until one night that Joshua finally found the strength to wake you. it had been a slow day, you’d tossed and turned and had bad dreams. the night was cold, cool. Joshua and Follows-Chalk took it in turns sitting with you, but you did not improve. Follows-Chalk left the cave to retrieve more bodies from the battlefield and transport them for proper burial with the other Dead Horse members, leaving Joshua on the night shift. at first, you were just whimpering in your sleep, Joshua had grown used to the sound, as much as it scared him. then you started to move. you jerked and shivered, the whimpering turned into incoherent words. Joshua shut his holy book and sat next to you, watching your face contort in your sleep. all of a sudden you were crying, repeating words over and over. Joshua couldn’t stand to watch, he reached out, a hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t wake. something had you stuck deep in your mind.

after several unsuccessful attempts to rouse you from sleep, Joshua pulled the furs away, his hands on your arms. he turned you onto your back, repeating your name over and over. you didn’t come out of sleep. he started to wonder if it was a seizure, or if he was about to lose you. he didn’t stop trying to wake you, and after he shook you by the shoulders, your eyes flew open and you sat up, gasping. relieved you weren’t dead, Joshua’s hands fell from you and he said a prayer. you threw the furs from your legs and checked that this was real, that this wasn’t a dream that turned into a nightmare. you’d had so many these past few days, unable to escape them. they bombarded you each time you closed your eyes. your eyes landed on Joshua praying and you began to worry that this was yet another dream.

“Joshua, Joshua, is this real?” you grabbed him by the face, leaning right into him. his clear blue eyes met yours, and his hands settled onto yours.

“this is real.” he took your trembling hands into his bandaged ones and held them tight. “I am real, you are real, we are real, we are here.” he told you, and you moved off the bed to be closer to him. he was real, thank the Lord. you ran your hands over the bandages and let the feel of them bring you back to the present.

“we… are real.” you decided, nodding as your hands went back to his face. “you are real, I am real.” Joshua nodded back, and you let your hands trail to his neck, then around him. he let you do it, just happy to be there. you had him in your arms, and he felt real and you felt real and you were finally free of the endless cycle of nightmares. Joshua’s arms then encircled you and you melted into him. your eyes closed but you did not slip back into the land of nightmares and horrors. you stayed there with him, safe.

“are you okay?” he asked, not pulling away.

“if you’re here… I think I am.” you replied, after thinking for a moment. words seemed to elude you sometimes, but it felt even worse now, since the battle.

“I will stay here then, with you.” Joshua said quietly, and you sighed in relief. you both sat like that for a moment, until Joshua’s arms managed to lift you into his lap and have you tucked in his chest. you watched the roaring fire behind, letting it soothe you back to sleep. when Joshua felt you go heavy, he lifted you up back into the camp bed, but climbed in with you. he removed his heavy SWAT vest, and his boots. in just his trousers he held you there in the single camp bed, furs covering you both, and prayed that your mind would heal as well as your stitches had.

••●••••●••••●••

when you first joined the BAU, you were nervous but who wouldn’t be?

you’d put your heart, blood, sweat and tears into passing those profiling classes and you’d passed with flying colours! your parents were very happy for you, knowing it had been a lifelong dream of yours

on your first day you didn’t have a desk set up, and you were mortified that the BAU had forgotten about you on your first day

you almost turned around and walked back out of that office, until you bumped into Spencer Reid, that absolute charmer.

“oh, sorry,” Reid smiled apologetically, “hey, is your name–” you both said your name at the same time. Reid’s face broke out into a smile, and he held out his hand. “I saw your reports, impressive work for someone so young.” he had his hands in his pockets as he spoke. “not that you’re too young for the job or anything.” he added hastily. “oh thank you, uh, I’m just doing my best really.” you were trying to not stumble over yourself as you spoke, recognising Dr Reid as he stood in front of you. he asked where your desk was, secretly hoping he’d be able to talk some more with you, until you admitted there wasn’t a desk ready for you. a flush of embarrassment crept up your face, and Reid pressed his lips together in thought. he motioned for you to follow him to his desk, which he pulled a spare chair to and presented it to you proudly. “we can, uh, share,” he said, “until they find you one.” you smiled shyly, placing your bag on your lap as you took one chair and he took the other. he really liked your energy, so quiet, but he knew once you realised you could do the job he’d see the other side of you. when JJ called the team to the briefing room for a meeting, you found that your legs were cemented to the seat. this was it, your first case, what you’d been waiting for your entire life. Reid was up and gone, and you followed after a second of muddled thinking. inside the room was a team of faces you hadn’t met yet, but you knew all about them. Reid had a spare chair by his side, and after realising JJ was waiting for you to sit, you hurried over. as you sat down, JJ started bringing up the pictures of the victims and crime scenes, reading out the background information. you finally felt like you were getting somewhere.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

you were exhausted to say the least when you returned to the jet for the journey home. you’d followed Reid like a lost puppy on this case, but the others had been kind to you. Emily asked how you were doing each time she saw you, always privately checking in. JJ would text you for updates, giving you a smile whenever you crossed paths. Rossi made you feel like you were being included by asking for your thoughts, coming to you for second opinions. Morgan never left you behind anywhere, always on guard as you two went around together. Hotch carefully watched your body language and facial expressions throughout the case, jumping in when he thought you were beginning to fall behind. and Miss Penelope was always gushing at how polite you were when calling her for help, and promised to see you as soon as you returned. you obviously felt very welcomed, and even as quiet fell across the jet, it was comfortable. you text your parents that you were done with your first case, and closed your eyes to doze. 

you didn’t even realise that you had leaned a bit too far across and had your head on Reid’s shoulder

he shuffled down a bit so your head rested easily, before taking out a book of his and picking up where he left off

the others soon noticed and couldn’t help but smile, because for once Reid looked content in the company of another person

after that, it was an unspoken rule that no matter where you sat on the jet, Reid was next to you. you almost always slept, unless a case had been particularly harrowing and it kept you awake thinking, and each time your head would fall onto Reid’s waiting shoulder. it was also another unspoken rule that when the jet lands, no one wakes you up, except Reid.

he’s the only person you’ll be happy to let you wake you up on the jet

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

the drive home is always longer than the drive to work, you find, but this changed when Reid offered to help save the environment by carpooling!

when in Virginia, Reid likes carpooling with you to work, and dropping you off home at the end of the day

he’ll take you anywhere really if you ask him too :)

after a case, he has to see you walk in and lock the door behind you before driving away to his place

it gives him peace of mind that you’re safe without him there, not that he could attempt to physically fight a random intruder away, but he could certainly talk them into confusion!

to pass the time between being at home and going to work, where you’d see Reid again, you picked up the habit of reading.

when you bring a book with you anywhere, Reid makes a point of taking interest in it, then looking into it after you’ve finished it just so he can talk to you about it over the following weeks

even with the oddest of books, he’ll put himself through reading just so he knows what you’re talking about the next time he sees you

he would never have read The Hunger Games trilogy without your influence.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

it goes without saying that the BAU job is not an easy one. you’ve seen more mangled bodies than a graveyard, and walked through such gruesome crime scenes you were sure they weren’t real. the persistent nightmares started not long after your first few cases, and you told no one. not your parents, not even Reid, who you were sure had experienced nightmares too. there was one night in particular where you had been tossing and turning, then stretching and walking around your bedroom to try and tire yourself out. nothing stopped you from seeing the images of women that had been torn apart, discarded like they were nothing every time you closed your eyes. and then your morning alarm went off.

Reid noticed that you were off as you got into the car, no “good morning sunshine” or “hey handsome” as you normally said when buckling up

“you’re quiet, no sleep last night?” Reid asked, pulling away from your place and side-eyeing you

“yeah, sadly, it’s just one bad night though.” you half-smiled at him, trying to sleep in the car on the way to work

when you got there, Reid had coffee ready to go at all hours of the day, sometimes preempting your needs and placing a full mug on your desk before you could get up

at the end of the day where you’d only filled out paperwork, Reid saw that you were struggling, and had an idea

“so, I was thinking, there’s actually this new way to fall asleep by tricking your brain. we could try it tonight so you catch up on your sleep.” Reid said casually, as you finished more coffee. “I’ll do anything right now to get a decent night’s sleep.” you sighed, getting up to wash your mug before finishing up the paperwork for the night. Reid smiled as you walked off, the perfect plan in his head. once you were both done, Reid drove to your place, and joined you inside. “now what?” you asked, eyes heavy but brain still ticking over. “the fun part. you get changed, I’ll do the rest.” Reid started messing with your TV, and you just followed his instructions. you showered, changed clothes and met him back downstairs. he had the TV ready and the sofa made up. “I’ll stay for a bit to see if it works,” he then added, “if you don’t mind?” you waved a hand at him, you didn’t care if he slept on your bed, and he settled down next to you on the sofa.

an old Hollywood movie starts to play, black and white, and you glance at Reid in suspicion

he tells you to just relax and watch it, and about halfway through you’re falling asleep to the sound of the famous Transatlantic accent, exaggerated sound effects and old time music

Reid is overjoyed that his idea worked, because this is what he does sometimes to bore his brain to sleep on those difficult nights

he finds himself falling asleep too, but gets up and turns out the lights and closes the curtains before locking your front door

and settling back down on the sofa next to your sleeping form

he tells himself he’ll run home in the morning and change before work

the next morning, you both wake up, late. with less than an hour to get to work, Reid sped home to shower, change and eat before picking you back up. despite being in fresh clothes, with hastily applied makeup on and carrying breakfast in your hands, you both looked awful. you were much brighter this morning though, as you laughed getting into the car. you arrived at work just in time, huffing and sorting out hair and clothes at your desk. Reid’s shirt was half tucked in and your hair was so damn messy. luckily, no one paid much attention to the vibe between you both that day. you two chatted all day about the ending of the film that neither of you actually watched, and you asked Reid to come over again soon and let you choose the movie.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

it wasn’t until a few months in that Reid overheard you talking to your mother on the phone, he loved the way you smiled and laughed when talking to her, and then how you said goodbye so softly. what he’d do to have you speak to him like that for a day. when you caught him staring, you threw your pen at him. you had desks right next to each other, so you often wheeled on over, just to talk to him. whenever you approached, he stopped whatever he was doing and gave his full attention to you. “so,” you began, leaning back in your chair, “seeing as you like listening to my phone calls with my mother,” he held back a smile, “how is your mother doing?” you asked. he handed you a piece of writing paper, and you raised an eyebrow at it. “she’s doing good, I was actually just writing my letter to her.” you scan over his words and smile. he’s telling her about his recent case (as much as he can without getting into trouble). you hand the letter back and watch him finish the rest over the course of the day. on the drive home he thinks of something else to add in before he sends it off tonight.

the first time Reid mentioned you to his mother in his letters, it was nothing but a mention of your first few days in the BAU

all of her replies consisted of asking about you, and if Spence liked you

Reid blew it off as you being work friends and nothing more, but a mother always knows.

now Reid asks you to add in a paragraph to every letter he writes, because his mother likes hearing from you (she thinks you’re smart, and very funny)

sometimes you receive random greeting cards from Reid’s mother through the post, and you reply to them with a smile on your face

you have all of her cards pinned up in the kitchen, Reid saw the collection once and marvelled at it

“oh yeah, your mother is lovely, I get one every so often.” you tell him, smiling at your growing collection. “I’m almost jealous.” Reid admits, with a smirk as you admire the cards. “she wants to meet you, you know. I kind of promised her I’d visit soon, and bring you with me.” your eyes met his, and he struggled to maintain eye contact. “why didn’t you say?” you lightly shoved him on the arm and booked tickets to see Reid’s mother that evening over takeaway and drinks.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

your visit to meet Reid’s mother went well, really well. you didn’t bat an eyelid when she said out of context things and made zero sense, you just smiled and listened. Reid had never adored you more than in that moment, sat across from his mother, listening to her rattle on. Reid was aware that he did the same sometimes, but you also listened to him when he was on one, and he loved you for it. you had the weekend in Nevada, and after visiting Reid’s mother, he suggested going to several different places. you spent all weekend going around Nevada, taking pictures for your parents and videos for your own memory. you’d booked adjoining rooms in the hotel after some careful consideration, but that didn’t stop you from walking straight into Reid’s room in your hotel robe asking to borrow toothpaste because there was apparently none in your bathroom. the truth was there was toothpaste in your bathroom, you just wanted to see Reid. it became a joke for you, and Reid was none the wiser, for a while.

Reid discovered when he was hanging out in your room that it was all a joke

after you had fell asleep watching a really bad movie, he went to turn the bathroom light off

only to find your own toothpaste sitting there on the bathroom sink, untouched

he realised what you’d done with a smirk and turned the bathroom light off

the next morning when you asked to borrow toothpaste again (purely to see him half-awake in bed) he said yes without hesitation and you let yourself into his room with a hidden smile

this was the first time he’d been part of an inside joke, and he loved it

you were in your short pyjamas, the heat of Nevada hadn’t been a joke, even with aircon in the rooms you found yourself hotter than usual. Reid watched as you entered his bathroom, taking the toothpaste, and returning to your bathroom. he smiled as you brushed your teeth, clueless to his newly acquired knowledge. he knew just what to do with it too. when you got back to Virginia, you showed your parents some moments from the trip and they asked some very thought provoking questions. “honey, this doctor guy seems lovely, are you sure it’s just a friendship?” your mother asked, watching you from across the kitchen. you smiled at her and nodded. “we’re good friends, and good work colleagues, I couldn’t ask for more.” you replied, to which your father nodded. “that’s all we can ask for, a good friend in your life.” your father then got up, walking over to you and your mother in the kitchen. he poured himself some coffee, thinking. you knew exactly what was coming. “but,” you started to chuckle, “are you sure this isn’t something more?” you nodded in silence, and he walked away, not believing a word you said. your mother eyed you up as you scrolled through the selfies of you and Spence in Nevada, and tutted. even she could see it, you were falling for this Spencer Reid character faster than you realised. still, she didn’t say anything, not yet at least. perhaps you’d come to the realisation once the trip became a memory and you thought about what a good time you had with your ‘work friend’. you giggled to yourself whenever you thought about the toothpaste stunts you’d pulled, thinking Spence was none the wiser, until he dropped you off home one evening after work and then a few minutes later knocked on your front door.  “Spence?” you asked, opening the front door to let him in. “hi, yeah, I actually meant to ask you something but it slipped my mind until just now.” he said, so casually. “I don’t have any toothpaste at home, could I borrow yours?” your cheeks betrayed you, as did your facial expression. Reid smiled devilishly at catching you out, and you brought your hands to your face. “you knew the whole time? oh why didn’t you say?!” you laughed weakly, as Reid watched you unravel in your hallway. you looked straight at him, eyes twinkling with mischief, but face so hot. Reid closed your front door, leaving his hand on the handle. “so?” he asked, eyes meeting yours. “can I borrow your toothpaste? or do I go home empty handed?” you finally got a hold on yourself, and pressed your lips together before facing him. “Spencer Reid, are you asking me for toothpaste, or something else?” you asked, taking steps towards him. “I think we both know the toothpaste isn’t what I’m here for.” he said it so calmly, looking at you with his beautiful, smart eyes. 

you shared your first kiss with the charming Dr. Reid that night, and things only got better from there

anything toothpaste related was immediately taken the wrong way by you two, whether on your own or with company

you both tried to hide the blossoming relationship, but soon the others in the BAU noticed all of those funny little things that happened between you and Spencer, and it became hard to hide it without feeling like you were suffocating one another. there would be serious discussions ahead, and you were already preparing to be transferred to another team, but you could do it if it meant staying with Spencer. something told you that Hotch may be able to keep things as they were for the time being, if you both behaved. and you’d both never do anything to disappoint Hotch, intentionally.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

one month.  you’d been stuck in this canyon bordered sand pit for an entire month now, and still you were lacking the materials needed to attempt repairing your beloved Pip Boy. that, or Follows-Chalk, was the only thing able to get you out of here, but as long as the White Legs existed... that was never going to happen. so, you continuously toiled away at Joshua’s command. what you wouldn’t give for a Godly force to wipe the White Legs from your life, letting you start the long trek home at last. but no, in fact, you were still wracked with a dying sense of guilt when you made any form of contact with Follows-Chalk, despite the fact he was healing well, and the Dead Horses now hailed you as the ‘God-sent good neighbour’ they’d been hoping for since the conflict with the White Legs began. Joshua held you in good regard, and trusted you with missions of high importance on your own. you’d taken to lone wandering now Follows-Chalk was all but confined to the Dead Horses camp under the orders of the healers, who no longer side-eyed you with contempt, but rather amicable understanding. you had saved one of their own and gotten revenge, something they praised when you weren’t around to hear it. all in all, your relationships with the Dead Horses were going well. many of the warriors enjoyed your company, the hunters and scouts appreciated you holding down their territory and the healers were receptive to your deliveries of medicinal plants and supplies when they demanded them. Joshua couldn’t be more pleased, though he didn’t outwardly express his proud feelings it in front of the others. when you two were alone in Angel’s Cave, however, he often made little comments about your work that day, a hint of pride behind his otherwise carefully measured tone. those comments stuck in the back of your mind most days, reminding you that someone was waiting to hear of your successes when you returned to camp after a few days of gruelling, hard labour. for your efforts, Joshua had ordered you a few days of rest while he took over from your duties. in essence, you were replacing him, and he was replacing you, for a short time. off he went, pistol in hand, to partake in a scouting mission for the Dead Horses tribe, leaving them under your watch and protection. somewhere inside of you, you couldn’t help but feel as if he were testing you in some way. would he return to order and solidarity, or chaos and death? you were aiming for the first one, but should the second one occur... no it wouldn’t, because you had everything under control. at least, that was until the next day. Joshua had been absent from the camp for a day at most, before tragedy struck. you were quietly conversing with a few of the women of the tribe, they were teaching you some new words that would assist you in your translation efforts. it was very kind of them to go to such lengths, not only teaching you the correct pronunciation but the implied meanings behind each word. you had just learned a particularly difficult word when a cry sounded from upriver. the entire camp was suspended in momentary silence, until you dropped the half-made spear in your hand and started for the water’s edge. closely followed by the women of the tribe, wielding various melee weapons, you all made your way up the waters of the Eastern Virgin river to find a lone Dead Horse member stood there, calling out for someone. “my baby, my little girl!” a voice was shakily calling out, then she was on her knees in the water, sobbing openly. you and the Dead Horse tribeswomen had been the first to arrive, and carefully approached the sobbing woman in the water. she was openly cut on her face and visibly shaking. blood was leaking from the face wound. “what? what is it?” you asked in shaky Dead Horse dialect, your panic overriding your language skills. “they have taken her from me! my baby is gone.” you looked to the mouth of the river where the woman was facing, and saw that she was right. from the tracks alone you could tell that a child had been walking here recently. to add to the horror, there were blood splatters and White Leg markings left behind purposefully to taunt the mother. you couldn’t make them out from here, but Follows-Chalk soon appeared at your side, and read them aloud for you, and everyone else to hear. “we take your children, so your tribe will be ended swiftly when we attack.” the meaning was obvious. with no children left behind to carry the bloodline of the Dead Horses forward, the next big attack by the White Legs would be a brutal one, aiming to decimate the remaining Dead Horse warriors. your blood was boiling, rushing around your entire body at once, preparing you for what was about to be an impossible mission. retrieve a child from what would be the middle of the White Legs camp, because where else would they take her, but there? Follows-Chalk helped the mother to stand, before the others surrounded her and guided her back to the safety of the camp. men and women alike united around her, their whispers too low and hushed for you to make out what was being said. “I thought there were no children allowed here because of the war?” you asked Follows-Chalk, who stood silently beside you in the lull of the current. you couldn’t keep the tone of disappointment out of your voice. how could someone risk something like that? their own child, in the midst of a war, against enemies as dangerous as the White Legs no less. “the girl has no one but her mother, she was visiting from the other camp briefly today with one of our messengers.” Follows-Chalk replied sadly, the regret in his voice stabbing you in the heart. “Joshua isn’t going to be happy,” you sighed, walking up to the markings left on the canyon wall and tracing over them lightly, “but we should tell him.” you finished, rubbing the chalk off of your fingertips. “the mother will face punishment for disobeying Joshua Graham’s orders.” Follows-Chalk said, unwilling to agree to your comment. you paused, and turned to look at him. “she let her daughter be brought here when there is a war on, Follows-Chalk, we have no other choice. the entire camp heard her wailing, and when Joshua asks where I’ve been when I return with a child, how will we explain ourselves?” you demanded, gesturing to the markings left behind. there was also the blood splatters as evidence of a fight occurring right outside of the camp to explain. Follows-Chalk went quiet, staring at the river, before answering. “I ask this of you, courier. should you not return in time, allow me to explain things to Joshua Graham, while you retrieve the child in secret. once you have her, take her to the wooden house on the hill I showed you not long ago. I will meet you there with our visiting messenger, and the child will be returned safely to the other camp. I will let her mother know of the plan.” you listened, and your brain was not liking what it was hearing. “you’re asking me to just lie to Joshua like that?” you asked. “after all he has done for me.” your voice was but a whisper, just in case your voices carried down the river. Follows-Chalk saw the internal conflict on your face, and nodded, walking up to you. “he has left this camp and its people under my watch, my protection. I will not – no – cannot lie to him when he returns and we’ve had a child kidnapped!” you argued.

“please, save the girl, take her to the wooden house. from there, we will talk.” Follows-Chalk said again, trying to reach the middle ground. you had to admit, it was a better plan than sending the child back to the other camp with no word to Joshua at all, but things still needed to be made clear to him once this had all been dealt with. you and Follows-Chalk would discuss it later, that much was certain. “we talk about it in the wooden house, okay?” you agreed, piercing Follows-Chalk’s eyes with your own. he nodded and headed back down the river without another second to waste, just in case you changed your mind. you followed, only after looking at the chalk markings on the canyon walls once again, shaking your head with furrowed brows in disgust. how could the White Legs take a child like that? similar things had probably happened back in the Mojave, but those kidnappers used the concepts of ransom and negotiation to get a favourable outcome, and something told you the White Legs didn’t care for the intricacies of kidnapping children. heading swiftly into Angel’s Cave, you retrieved everything you’d need to leave the camp. water, bandages, bullets, pistols, hat, trenchcoat. you used the packing time to calm yourself momentarily, this was serious, and you needed a level head. finally ready, you made your hasty way out of the cave, but you were blocked by one of the elderly, expressionless healers. barely stopping in time to avoid a physical collision, you looked at them with wide eyes, as they stood firmly in your path. then, they began to chant. at first, you didn’t quite understand what was happening, if you were getting in the way or being chanted at. then, you realised. you took your hat off in a hurry, ditching your weapons on the cave floor. you’d seen the healers do this to their strongest hunters and warriors, bless them before they left the confines of Angel’s Cave. standing absolutely still, you closed your eyes and listened to the chant. it wasn’t anything hugely ceremonial for the Dead Horses, just an everyday ritual they believed and practiced. you felt the drag of the healer’s thumb across your forehead, running underneath your stray hairs, then across your cheeks and down your chin. the hand painted markings resembled the blessing, and the more lines, the more favoured you were. you counted four lines being made, and when the healer stepped out of your path, you nodded silently in thanks before collecting your things and heading out of the cave into the sun. ••●••••●••••●•• you wasted no time tracking the White Legs. they’d left behind footsteps, as always, and there was the occasional blood drop trail too. you sincerely hoped it didn’t belong to the girl. unfortunately, deep down, you were prepared to expect the worst. should you be faced with that, you knew exactly what the Dead Horses would expect of you. it was your speciality now, getting revenge. ••●••••●••••●•• barely an hour had passed when the trail you’d been closely following split into two. there had been a distinct lack of children’s footprints up until this point, but now they appeared, and went up the rocks into the mountains. the other set headed towards the general direction of the White Legs territory, and lacked any small footprints. hesitant, you started following the mountain bound trail, and found that your suspicions were confirmed by a patch of blood on a rock. they’d taken her away from the camp, expecting the Dead Horses to follow in an outrage and most likely walk straight into a deadly ambush or trap further down the path. the White Legs were getting... smart. it worried you, because it meant they were amping things up in expectation of a full frontal battle soon. you’d have to initiate a discussion with Joshua about the changes in the White Legs’ tactics recently, see what he made of it. you followed the trail up the mountainside, the footprints getting less and less frequent as the winds up here blew the sand around, disturbed it. still, you could make out roughly whereabouts they were heading with the girl, and you couldn’t be far behind them. you’d left shortly after the discovery of the girl’s disappearance, but how soon had the mother discovered her daughter missing? it could’ve been five minutes, an hour. Follows-Chalk had left that detail out, funnily enough. the trail was getting sparse, the winds harsher this far up. you held your rifle in your hands tight, expecting an ambush at any given moment as the sun began to dip behind the high canyon walls. still, you seemed to be getting no closer, until another patch of blood. fresh, right there on the rocks, but a bit high up for a child’s average height when standing. had one of the White Legs taken an injury while kidnapping her? you hoped so. it was so fresh that it still shone against the dying sun, still ran a little when the wind blew against it.  you slowed your pace, preparing yourself for attack. each turn was a calculated one as you moved forwards, not wanting to risk the safety of the girl. a few more quiet steps, another corner, yet nothing was happening. your hands had been gripping the rifle for hours now since you ascended in hopes of catching up to the White Legs. then, a voice. the wind happened to blow right into you, carrying a voice with it. you paused, pressing yourself against the canyon’s rocks, straining your ears to listen. the winds blew again, carrying those voices back around to you. you didn’t understand as much of the White Legs language as you did the Dead Horses, but the tension in the voices told you enough. it sounded like things weren’t going to plan. it was definitely male voices, but no child’s voice yet. holding your breath, you barely peeked around the corner, and spotted the backs of four White Legs, and the girl, sat on the sand, cross legged and tied up, a stained cloth in her mouth. the girl was staring at the sand, a defeated look on her face, which made your heart speed up. you willed her to look at you, spot your eyes around the shadows of the mountain path. you eased yourself down into the prone position, letting the rifle comfortably fall into place. you’d done this a hundred times, if not a thousand, and just had to do it again. line up, account for the wind and distance, and exhale. the first shot fired, two White Legs fell to the sand, having been stood in a perfect lineup for you to take them down together. the other two spun around, trying to find the source of the attack. you fired again, taking the third one out, and the fourth dove for the girl, knife at the ready. you were trying to line up when the White Leg put the knife to the girl’s throat, and stared at your scope, dead on. clever, putting the girl between him and you. you put the rifle down, revealing yourself. you told yourself that him spotting you was pure luck, nothing else. he was panicking now, having seen his fellow warriors downed by two bullets in less than thirty seconds. “let her go.” you demanded in English, abandoning your rifle behind you. you didn’t need any guns to take this man on, you knew that. the White Leg shouted something at you, to which you shook your head. “I don’t understand you, just let the girl go.” you took a step forward, and watched in horror as the knife began to draw blood. you took three quick steps back, hands held up flat, facing the White Leg. after seeing your empty hands, the White Leg hauled the girl to her feet, before pointing the knife at you. he motioned for you to come closer, and you took one step, slowly. he motioned again, and you took a second step. he had a tight grip on the girl, she was absolutely terrified. her wide, wet eyes made your brain start panicking, but you had to squash it down, for now was not the time. the White Leg repeated his previous statement, to which you didn’t react, as you had no idea what he was saying. when you were within reach of the girl, the White Leg threw her down onto the sand behind him, still holding that knife. it was a sharp thing, mean looking. you didn’t want it anywhere near you, or her again, but how were you going to get it off of him without causing a scuffle? he motioned for you to come even closer, and you hesitated, so he lunged instead, almost sinking the knife into your shoulder. he wanted a one on one fight, you realised, that’s why he was beckoning you! whoever won the fight took the girl and walked away alive. ‘fine.’ you thought, before locking your hand around his wrist, keeping that knife well away from you, and using your other hand to clamp down on his neck. the girl behind him was now fighting to get out of her ropes, and it made you smile inside, because she had just been waiting for the right moment. you struggled with the White Leg, he was planted into the sand firmly, and without a free hand to reach for your own daggers, you were stuck like this. so, you went to one knee, letting go of his neck and tackling him from the waist to the sand. you went so fast that you knocked him with a good strength, winding him. you snatched the knife from him, turning it to him. the girl was free of the cloth in her mouth, and was panting. you looked at her momentarily before plunging the knife into the White Leg’s neck, leaving it there. as he drowned in his own blood, you stood up, approaching the girl. she shied away, curling up into a ball, but you held out your empty hands to her. carefully, you set one hand on the rope and started undoing it for her, and she uncurled, holding her bound hands out to you. you made quick work of the rope, then helped her to stand. she stared at the body of the fourth White Leg with something indescribable in her eyes. whether it was fear or interest, you weren’t sure. in the best Dead Horse dialect you could manage, you asked the girl if she was okay. she didn’t reply at first, just stared at the bodies surrounding you both. in less than five minutes you’d downed four White Legs, and she couldn’t seem to comprehend it. she was too young to witness any of this, to experience being snatched from her mother like that. you still had yet to determine where the blood trail had come from, and looked over the girl once, then twice. “the blood, it’s yours, or theirs?” you asked, making hand gestures. she pointed to the one you’d just fought and you examined his body. there, you saw it, a cut on his ankle. the girl said something about a rock in her hand, how she’d managed to hit his foot when they first grabbed her. you let out a shaky breath you weren’t even aware had been holding itself back. thank the Gods or whatever watched over you that the girl had been unharmed. you opened your arms to her, and she let you pick her up. picking your way over the bodies, retrieving your rifle, you started the walk to the wooden house on the hill.

the cold metal of the bracelet reminded Matt that the ballerina was out there still, waiting for him, praying maybe. he tucked the bracelet into his pocket, he’d give it back to her himself when he found her, and her friend. the tunnels were becoming a hard to decipher jumble of voices, footsteps and occasionally search dogs barking. each new sound layered atop the last, making an ever growing pressure build in Matt’s head, something he didn’t need. still, he pressed on.

the sound of running water finally hit Matt’s ears as he kept creeping further into the tunnel system, losing hope and determination with each step. the scent of the ballerina’s perfume had become dampened by the cold air and the stench of what Matt could only hope was sewage, not bodies of enemies of the gang. as he got closer to the running water sound, his foot stepped on something soft. he immediately bent down, hands landing on something wet and furry. his hands recoiled, believing he’d just fondled a drowned animal, but then he caught that smell. the ballerina’s perfume was all over that furry object, and Matt suddenly knew exactly what he was faced with. her favourite fur coat that she’d bought for herself after her first successful show.

Matt picked it up, it was soaking, and now reeked of dirty sewage water. still, there was a tang of something in the air, a more subtle metallic smell... blood. Matt’s hands desperately clutched on the material, and he found patches of recently lost blood on the sides of the fur coat, much to his weakening resolve. still, he left the coat there, now ruined by the water, and carried on. all he could think about was where those blood patches could’ve originated from, was it her side, her arms, her hands? who’d hurt her? was she getting away, was she already back at his apartment crying for him?

he wished he knew.

the tunnel came to an end. why did it abruptly end here? Matt could sense a change in the space before him, there was a tall object attached to the wall, his hands landed on a ladder. it was old, rusted, creaky. the texture on his gloves was awful, let alone bare skin, he thought. there were no traces of blood on the ladder rungs as far as he could sense, as he made his way up in a hurry. he was rushing so bad that he didn’t stop to take in the surroundings ahead of him. just before his head would’ve surfaced into an above ground building, he paused. the lightest sound of footsteps above him. his heart pumped faster, and he backed down a few steps.

the manhole above was wrenched open and he was hauled upwards, thrown onto concrete and surrounded. guns cocked and clicked, Matt put his hands behind his head and grit his jaw together. he’d walked right into whatever this was, like an idiot. an unprepared, unfocused idiot. what a rookie mistake. as Matt’s self-inflicted insults ran through his head, the men around him shifted as another person entered the room.

“so good of you to finally make an appearance,” the voice was one he’d never heard before in his life, “I don’t know what to call you, so masked man will do.” the voice added quietly, before taking a deep breath to project their voice. “well, it seems we’re at a bit of a crossroads, I have something you want, you have something I want. see what I’m getting at?” Matt stayed silent, only breathing filled the room. “the silent treatment, right, okay.” the voice made an exasperated sigh, and footsteps echoed around the room. “let’s show you instead then, hmm?” the voice was then joined by sets of footsteps, and Matt immediately recognised the ones he’d been listening for all night.

the ballerina was being manhandled into the room alongside her friend, who looked much worse for wear. Matt could instantly sense the fear running through both of the girls, and it made him desperate to get out of here as quick as he could, but a survey of the room gave Matt a rough headcount of twenty men armed with various weapons, not to mention the ones upstairs and the owner of the voice. “now, whether or not you can see through that ridiculous mask of yours, I’m certain you know who stands before you at gunpoint.” Matt froze, suddenly realising the odds of this ending in an acceptable way. “oh, I do believe he’s realised how fucked he is!” there was a stark silence save for the laughter of that voice. it must be the leader’s voice, since no one else dared to speak.

“let the girls go and take me.” Matt said, breaking the laughter of the voice short. a tension settled over the room. Matt got the idea that no one had ever interrupted the maniacal laughter before, and he’d just been the first. “I know you want nothing to do with them, you want me, don’t you?” Matt continued. the voice had gone silent.

“wrong.” the sound of a gun being loaded filled the room. “I want everyone in this room right where they are.” the voice had a very unhinged tone to it now, and Matt sensed that things were about to go bad, quickly.

“you’re a freak, you know that?” a new voice hit Matt’s ears. he realised it was the ballerina’s friend. 

“don’t–” the ballerina hissed, but her friend had reached breaking point.

“you keep us here for no reason, laugh at everything you say, but you’re just a sad, lonely freak who has nothing better to do with his time. how shit do you have to be at your job to be demoted to kidnapping girls, ballerinas at that? I hope your boss has your name written down in a little black book with three strikes through it because you’re useless, you know that?” the voice broke out into laughter again, and Matt waited in absolute tense suspense. “what? is that all you can do, laugh at me? you’re pathetic–”

“oh, you were a funny one.” the gun clicked and a shot rang out, followed by a thump, then a scream. the voice was laughing again, harder this time, and Matt was having trouble registering what had just happened. the men around Matt shifted uncomfortably, obviously not expecting that either. Matt was guessing that it hadn’t been part of the plan. screams filled the room, the building, as the ballerina dropped to the floor to cradle her friend’s body. Matt listened out for the friend’s breath, heartbeat, anything but there was nothing. other than the racing heartbeats of everyone else in the room. “now, onto the main event.” the voice had stopped laughing and was now focused, serious.

a rustle of clothing and the sound of pages flipping, the echoing cries of the ballerina. Matt was losing time to figure out an escape, yet he couldn’t do anything from the position he was in, outnumbered twenty something to one.

think, Murdock, think.

“what are you doing–” the ballerina sobbed as movement sounded from her direction. she was being dragged up from her friend’s body and made to stand up straight.

“hold on a moment, I’m reading.” the voice snapped, before clearing his throat. what he said next was not what Matt expected, or the ballerina, but it changed everything. “longing,” the word was in Russian, and more followed, “rusted, seventeen,” Matt heard the slowing of the ballerina’s heartbeat, “daybreak, furnace,” the voice got more and more dramatic with each word he spoke, “nine, benign,” Matt didn’t understand what was going on, but it scared him, “homecoming. one. freight car.” the voice went silent, only heavy breathing remained. “now, my little ballerina, are you ready to comply?”

“ready to comply.” the ballerina replied in Russian.

“execute the masked man.” the voice ordered, excitement evident in his tone. Matt listened as the ballerina approached, taking long striding steps.

“wait–” Matt got out before the ballerina had him by the throat. Matt’s hands went to hers, and held her back, but she was fighting him. where had this strength come from? Matt was astounded, but also confused. why had those words changed the ballerina? why was she now acting on the voice’s orders without question? Matt could sense a change in the ballerina’s demeanour, but it was something deeper, something in her mind that she had no control over. she would never harm someone else, not unless her own life was on the line, even then she was scared to hurt others because she’d get into trouble. now, that sweet girl was gone, and left behind was something entirely different.

“I said execute him, girl.” the voice sounded from behind the ballerina, which spurred her to latch her hands onto Matt’s throat again and start squeezing. “yes, yes, do it!” the voice was overjoyed at what it was witnessing, but the ballerina was still not outright killing Matt as expected.

“listen to me, he’s done something to you, this isn’t you at all. you don’t hurt people, that isn’t who you are, why are you listening to him?” the ballerina’s hold remained firm, but Matt still fought to speak to her. “remember when I came to you on that rooftop the first time about your case? then when the case was finished you danced, and I danced with you? remember that?” Matt was wasting valuable oxygen, but he found that he didn’t care. he’d do anything to get the ballerina back, even if it killed him.

“what are you waiting for, ballerina? kill him!” the voice demanded.

“don’t listen to him, you never listen to bad men, not like him. you remember him, don’t you? don’t make me say his name, I don’t want to do that to you but if I can’t get you back–” the ballerina knelt down to Matt’s level, staring at him through the mask. “I’m sorry for this.” Matt then spoke the full name of the ballerina’s abusive ex-boyfriend who’d made her life a living Hell in and out of court. he was gone now, but still existed in the ballerina’s memories and nightmares. Matt felt the change happen from inside of her, first her heart, then her head, then the rest of her body followed suit. she began panicking again, rather than being stone cold serious.

“oh my god.” she said, looking around the room, her eyes landing on her dead friend once again. “what did you do to her?” she asked, voice shaking as she went to her knees halfway between Matt and her friend’s body. “what did you do!” she demanded, in a way that Matt had never quite heard before.

“why are you talking?” the voice asked, sounding as confused as Matt felt. “why isn’t it working? what did you say to her?” the voice made a path for Matt, but was abruptly stopped. the ballerina had grabbed the voice’s leg on his way past and held him there.

“I asked you a question.” she stood up, iron grip on the voice’s clothing, before slamming the voice back into a column of bricks. “what have you done?” she repeated, voice broken but body rigid. Matt started to get a sense of the situation, and got himself ready for a fight, because one was coming soon.

“I woke you up, you oblivious little bitch.” the voice started laughing, but was cut off as the ballerina slammed him into the floor, about to land a deadly blow when the nearby armed men jumped in. one dove at the ballerina, but she simply rolled and threw him off, getting back up to her feet without so much as a side glance. Matt swung out his leg, taking out some of the armed men, but not all of them. he ducked as bullets started flying, no longer questioning the ballerina’s persona change. if she could fight now that was only an improvement in this situation, and Matt wasn’t complaining about it.

the ballerina took on as many men as she could, evading their clumsy attacks and flooring them at each turn. she disarmed them easily, throwing unloaded pistols aside and emptying the clips into the bodies of her attackers. she even swung up on one’s shoulders using her legs alone, breaking the man’s neck and letting him fall to the floor. she had not a scratch on her, and any blood that landed on her was not her own. Matt was doing well on his side of the room too, knocking out men with his kicks and slamming them into walls. by luck neither Matt or the ballerina had caught a stray bullet, and it was when they realised this that the room was empty of conscious or living people.

the owner of the voice had fled, that much was evident, leaving behind twenty-ish dead or beaten men and one dead ballerina. Matt kicked in the head of one last attacker, silencing him, before turning in the direction of the ballerina. she was knelt over her friend’s body again, tears running but no audible sobs. the ballerina smoothed the hair out of her friend’s face, smiling sadly. the single gunshot to her chest had killed her instantly, at least she hadn’t suffered, but she was still dead.

Matt slowly came to the ballerina’s side, unsure of what state she was in now. she’d just fought off grown gang members with loaded weapons like it was just another day, when before she wouldn’t have dared look at someone the wrong way.

“I got her killed, he wanted me, not her.” the ballerina said with a small voice. Matt immediately recognised the ballerina that he had first met.

“he shot her, it’s his fault. I’ll find him, but we need to go.” Matt was knelt down next to the ballerina, and could sense the presence of the body right before him. it was a horrible feeling, being in the presence of the recently departed. it was like there was a black hole in the room, drawing in all of the warmth and love and leaving nothing there in turn. not that there was any warmth or love in this godforsaken abandoned building in the first place, but the ballerina’s heart was obviously breaking. “we’ll take her to the city coroner.” Matt said, reaching out to pick up the body, which was cold. the poor girl had lived her last few moments making a stand for her life, but she’d endured barbaric treatment from the gang, been shivering in the cold and probably wishing for a way out in her last few days.

yet, Matt was relieved that it wasn’t his ballerina’s body he was carrying.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

the ballerina burst back into Matt’s apartment, despite it being early morning. she was desperate to tell him about what the fuck had just happened, but found the place empty. she cried her heart out at being alone, and she thought about her now dead friend each time she closed her eyes. the ballerina cried herself to exhaustion, and eventually sleep, though it was fitful and cruel. she had fallen asleep on the couch, but woke up in Matt’s bed. she opened her aching, swollen eyes to see Matt in the kitchen. she rolled over, trying to dispel the mean headache that had formed overnight, and sighed when it only got worse.

Matt then appeared at the doorway, holding a tea and breakfast.

“where were you last night when I came in?” the ballerina demanded, sitting up and squinting at the bright New York light coming in through the windows.

“I was out looking for you, you did go missing last night, remember?” Matt replied sternly. “that was dangerous, you realise that, right? we’re lucky you came back on your own.” he sat on the edge of the bed and waited for the ballerina’s response.

“you have no idea what happened, do you?” the ballerina asked, voice deadly quiet. she’d changed, Matt noted. “I had to abandon my best friend’s body at the city coroner with the help of the masked man, because some fucking depraved gang leader shot her, when what he really wanted was me.” the ballerina’s voice was laced with hate, unmistakable seething hatred. “he killed her, then... brainwashed me with Russian words. I almost hurt the masked man under orders to execute him. then I snapped out of it and started fighting people who had guns pointed at me. none of it makes any sense, nothing.” the ballerina was exhausted still, Matt could sense it.

“I’m sorry,” Matt’s hand covered the ballerina’s, “about your friend, the gang, all of it.” Matt’s heart screamed for the ballerina, he could sense her pain. “we’ll open a case at Nelson and Murdock–”

“no.” Matt stopped talking, but he was relieved that the ballerina was opposed to opening a case, going to the police. “no, this isn’t something you deal with in the courts. this is... different.”

“what do you want to do?” Matt asked, a simple question, but a million possible answers. he knew exactly what the ballerina was about to say.

“right now? sleep for a hundred years. after that? kill that man.” Matt turned towards the ballerina, both of his hands taking hers and holding them. he had to put on an act, he had to try and discourage her, but he so badly wanted to just come out and say he’d help her no matter what.

“that’s not possible, I’m sorry, but you’re putting yourself in too much danger.” the ballerina leant forward and challenged Matt.

“I think I can handle it, ask the masked man.” Matt had to hold back a smile, because he knew exactly what she was referring to, yet he had to hide it. instead, he shook his head. “whatever that brainwashing thing was, it made me able to fight, and I mean fight. I just need the masked man to help me find this psycho so I can kill him.” the ballerina had never been so determined before, not even before a new show where she was performing as the lead for the first time on opening night.

Matt lowered his head, feigning defeat.

“if I call him, and he says no, that’s it.” the ballerina squeezed Matt’s hands.

“I think we both know he won’t say no.”

and she was right, because Matt was already planning his next nighttime venture.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

she had been sat in the police station for hours. it was overrun with calls and cops, yet no one had spared her a glance since she had reported her best friend’s disappearance. with tired eyes and permanently aching feet, the ballerina glanced at her phone screen again, seeing that it was almost morning in New York city. she had a show tonight, she should’ve been in bed hours ago and waking up soon for her morning routine. but, here she was, waiting to speak with a detective. the ballerina even asked the front desk if there was anyone available at all who would be willing to speak to her, and she was given a rookie cop in return. she tried to explain the situation, but was shot down, and told to forget about her friend as she probably did “a disappearing act over a boy and didn’t want to tell anyone”. the ballerina was then dismissed out of the police station and back into the streets of NYC. she got home as the sun began to rise, and felt utterly helpless and hopeless. she tried to do something to take her mind off of it, tried desperately to believe the cop’s words, but her mind was stuck on her friend. her best friend wouldn’t just up and leave like that without saying something, she knew that. she’d called and texted hundreds of times, and she knew that her friend would’ve picked up after even one phone call. she sat still as a statue in the apartment, thinking about what options she had. the police in NYC were a dead end, she realised that now, the good cops were too busy or too low down the pecking order, and the crooked ones wouldn’t risk upsetting the wrong people just for a lost ballerina. but who else was there? she sat there deep in thought, thinking back to when she was in trouble herself... oh. the masked man. with a jump she got out of her chair, digging around for her mobile in her handbag, and dialling Karen first. when Karen didn’t pick up, she reluctantly stared at the screen for Matthew Murdock’s number. she put the phone back down on the counter, second guessing herself. she hated having to ask him for more help when he’d already done so much for her, but what other options did she have? she was no good at doing detective work herself, and she didn’t know people like Matt did. so, she went for Matt’s number. to her surprise, he picked up before the third ring. he said her name immediately, and she sighed in relief. “I need your help.” she said in a timid voice, her heart beating at a million miles an hour as she waited for his answer. she really hoped she hadn’t interrupted him doing anything important. “where are you?” he asked, rustling sounds coming from his end. “in my apartment. can I come to you?” the ballerina asked, biting one of her nails as she spoke, a habit she never broke. “yeah, of course you can. I can call a cab for you if that’s easier?” he was so good to her, even though her own case had been tied up and was no longer Matt’s problem. the ballerina took the cab to Matt’s place, which she hadn’t actually visited before, and he welcomed her in with a hug. she felt awful for intruding but she really needed his help, she hung up her coat and took off her shoes. he made her a hot drink in his little kitchen and they sat down on the couch together, after the ballerina had calmed down. she was a silent worrier, Matt had noticed, not a loud or physical one. her cues were very subtle, but if you paid attention, they were there. tonight she was picking at her knitted jumper sleeve, avoiding eye contact with Matt as he had taken his glasses off for the evening. “what’s going on? trouble about your case?” he asked, holding his own drink in both of his hands. “no, it’s not me this time. it’s my friend, best friend, really. I saw her after the last show, and then all of a sudden she disappears. I’ve been to her place, called her a hundred times. none of our other friends have heard or seen a thing either, and the police told me to forget about it.” the ballerina realised how unimportant that sounded so she added, “something just isn’t right, Matt, I wouldn’t be here otherwise. we have a strict routine and she’s just totally abandoned it all, not a single word to me.” the ballerina said this all with a wobbling voice, and Matt reached out to her gently. she leant into his side hug, and wiped a few stray tears away, thinking he hadn’t seen them. he felt them, that tiny sliver of sadness amongst a big ball of stress and worry. “I’ll call my friend, he’ll sort everything out. he just needs time to get some information. I’ll give him what I can too.” the ballerina nodded, and when she had finished her hot drink Matt insisted that she stay for the night, so she borrowed Matt’s clean clothes, which did get a smile out of her from how oversized they were. while Matt made a show of doing legal stuff, the ballerina busied herself with daily stretches that she repeated too many times, then a few hundred practice moves. Matt knew she was calming herself through dance, and it both made him fascinated, and worried that she wouldn’t sleep. just as Matt was about to make up some excuse for leaving the apartment so late, the ballerina gave in and collapsed onto the couch. being as quiet as possible, Matt slipped out, and started his hunt. he hadn’t met the ballerina’s best friend before, but he had a pretty good idea of what he was looking for. young girls were being relentlessly targeted in NYC as of late, and this case was no exception. the ballerina had narrowly escaped her own encounter with a boy who’d had evil intentions, and Matt held that victory close to his heart, for he’d never seen someone so defeated be so brave when called upon. it was funny, because Matt had never considered having children, but the ballerina had certainly given him an idea of what it might be like, what it might feel like one day. unfortunately, that life was far off for Matt, especially as he found himself prowling the streets of cold, dark NYC in search for information on the ballerina’s missing friend. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ the ballerina called in sick to her performance that night, and knew that her understudy would be overjoyed at the news, she was always itching for a chance to perform. the ballerina waited as patiently as she possibly could for Matt to return, assuming he had left to go to work as she had intruded on him in the morning hours. he came back at lunch, and told the ballerina to pack a bag at her apartment and come back before night fell. the ballerina knew better than to ask questions, so she did just that. she took the subway home, headphones in, losing herself in the noise of the city. she liked people watching on her journeys around the city, making up lives for the people her eyes landed on. maybe other people looked at her and assumed she lived with two loving parents in some nice NYC apartment, or even a townhouse outside the city where she attended one of those good schools. the ballerina knew immediately that she’d hate that life, pretending like she lived in a happy little family when it was just the opposite. all her dreams of a happy family died when she moved to NYC–– her stop was coming up, so she stopped thinking and started walking. she felt unsafe entering her own place for the first time in a long time, but she was only here to get some things. with a gnawing anxiety she started packing a bag for a few days. she kept going back and forth for things she’d forgotten, simple things like a hairbrush or toothpaste. the floundering ballerina found herself in the middle of her now very messy apartment when her phone rang. she thought nothing of it at first, staring at the screen in mild confusion, it was an unknown number. her head was all muddled, it was wrong to pick it up, but what if it was her friend using someone else’s phone? against her better judgement, she pressed answer.

“listen very closely, we’ve got your little ballerina friend here, and for her safe return we want a bit of cash.” if the ballerina’s blood could’ve frozen and sent her into hypothermic shock, it would’ve. that voice was entirely unfamiliar and yet it was as if she’d heard it in dreams, or nightmares. “how does... fifty thousand American dollars sound?” there were a chorus of agreeing cheers from the other end, and the ballerina felt sick to her stomach. she then heard something she wasn’t expecting. “don’t you dare listen to them! they’ll kill you and me and take the money, just get as far away as you can–” the phone was pulled away from her friend’s voice, but she continued screaming. the ballerina had to steady herself against the wall, feeling as if she wasn’t even in control of her own body. this was not happening. “shut up, bitch!” a different voice bellowed, silencing everything on that end. the ballerina held back gasping breaths as she tried to understand what was going on. having a panic attack was not the move right now. “right, have we got that clear, sweetheart? fifty thousand in cash by tonight, you’re gonna leave it at the address I send you after this call ends. any funny business, police, outsiders, and your friend here dies. I don’t play those games, got it?” the ballerina was at a total loss for words.”can you fucking hear me or is the signal bad at your cushty little apartment?” he asked, quietly, to which the ballerina froze. “fifty thousand?” the ballerina asked, physically shaking. “there she is! you got it sweetheart, just leave it at the address I send you, and no one gets hurt. simple, right?” the ballerina had to bite back her cry before answering. “okay, alright. I... I just want her back, unharmed.” the voice on the other end laughed before replying. “that’s for me to decide, not you. I’ll see you tonight.” the call ended, and the ballerina stared at the wall she’d been leaning on for a good few minutes, processing what she had just agreed to. the address did indeed come through on her phone, from the same unknown number, and she knew it was somewhere in the old industrial part of the city. mostly abandoned warehouses filled with homeless people, or gangs. she went to ring Matt, but remembered the part about involving outsiders. Matt was an outsider, and if the voice on the phone knew he was involved, her friend stood no chance. fifty thousand was... too much money for her to comprehend. she didn’t even have that much, even so, withdrawing all of her life savings at once was sure to raise eyebrows. she had to do it at different banks at different times all by the end of today, then get it ready for tonight. should she take protection with her in case things went sideways? it was probably best... right? but what if they were there and searched her for weapons, finding whatever she’d brought, and killed her there and then? her head span with the choices and decisions she had to make by tonight. there was one thing she knew for certain though, she was getting her friend back alive, one way or another. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ several banks later, the ballerina was almost ready. she changed into more appropriate attire for the cold New York nights, before putting all of the money into a bag and taking the subway to the address. before she arrived, she sent a last minute voice note to Matt, against her better judgement again, about where she was going. he would figure out the rest, she was sure of it. she made sure she sounded okay, not nervy or weak, to try and put him off sending help. Matt was still trying to call her as she stepped off the subway, but she silenced her phone, hid it in her bra and started walking with a bag full of cash and nothing but sheer unrelenting hope that this would play out in her favour. the warehouses were very intimidating, despite their deteriorating condition and emptiness. maybe that was what made them so... haunting. the ballerina tried to get her head straight as she counted the warehouses to make sure she left the money in the right one. there, the one warehouse with boarded up windows and signs of life around it, at the end of the row. to say that the ballerina’s emotional state was a wreck would be an understatement. she had no idea what she felt, it was a huge mix of anxiety, adrenaline, fear, dying hope and an urge to flee while she still could. she paused before entering the warehouse, it appeared to be abandoned on the outside, but once she stepped inside she could have dozens of guns on her. she shook her head, wrenching the door open, and squeezing through the gap she’d made. she barely noticed the massive gash on her hand from where she’d scraped it across the jagged metal door, leaving the potent smell of blood behind her. it was hot dripping from her fingers, but she ignored it. with a grunt, she hauled the bag after her, barely getting it through. the warehouse was eerily empty, and the ballerina didn’t know whether to be relieved or suspicious. she walked to the middle of the building, putting the bag down, and turned to leave when she had a bad feeling. she wasn’t alone, she just knew it, she wasn’t on her own in here. they were somewhere, they were close, but where? she turned back around, and found her answer, as numerous shadows began passing by the back windows. they were coming, and she suddenly felt like the money was the last thing they wanted. how could she let herself get into this situation? she made a break for a window, yanking it open and vaulting over the frame to land in a patch of overgrown shrubbery. the stinging on her face told her that she’d landed in something nasty, and she rushed to get free. shouting from inside the warehouse began, and the ballerina ran. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ Matt listened to the voice message again, trying to discern if it was genuine. the sounds of the New York subway screeching in the back made him think that it was genuine, but someone could’ve had her at gunpoint. gangs were rampant in NYC, and went to extremes to get what they wanted, and that alone made Matt worried. he was now out of his lawyer attire and in the masked man clothes, preparing himself for the worst night of his life. he was equally upset at the ballerina and impressed, he didn’t think she’d have the willingness to travel to a part of the city that was so dangerous, all to get her friend back. he was aware that there was probably cash or something valuable involved in exchange for the friend, as the words ‘drop off’ had implied in the ballerina’s voice message. strangely, he hadn’t heard her voice wavering like it normally did when she was nervous. Matt found that the ballerina’s voice, like so many others, betrayed her emotions at the best of times. some people had the ability to mask that weakness, but the ballerina was almost acutely aware of it, and used it sometimes to get her way. she was more than she appeared, Matt knew that, even if she didn’t. as Matt entered the warehouse district, he caught a gust of wind, and the unmistakable smell of the ballerina’s perfume. she’d heavily overdone it, he knew that instantly by how strong it was. like a dog catching the faintest scent of food, he followed. he arrived at the very last warehouse, on the end, dark, empty. if the ballerina had been here, she was gone now, but not far. he crept into the warehouse, finding it empty, but smelling traces of blood and heavy perfume in the air. he found the start of the blood trail, on a sharp metal doorframe, and followed a dripping trail that led to the basement level, and then abruptly ended by a wall. he retraced his steps, and ended up at the same spot. why did the fresh blood trail end at a brick wall? he scoured high and low in that basement level for more traces of blood, but always ended up at the same wall. in frustration, he punched it, and listened to the sound it made. it was hollow. his fingertips immediately felt around the brickwork for something unusual, something that stood out. he went over the entire wall once, twice. it had to be here somewhere, he was running out of time.  there, he just had it. he skimmed his fingers back over, and pushed down, hearing the wall move backwards. what Matt didn’t realise is that what stood before him was a complex network of tunnels. he listened out, hearing faint, faraway footsteps, and entered the tunnels. the wall didn’t move back into place on its own, meaning that someone had to do it from this side, so there had to be several people down here. Matt’s first guess would be gang members, but it could just be some loosely organised punks looking to make some serious cash off of a successful ballerina. whoever it was, they’d picked the wrong target tonight. Matt paused at the first corner. he took a moment to think, at worst, it was going to be a double homicide on his hands, at best he might get one of them back alive. the money wasn’t even in the question at this point, it was probably already gone. he then went deeper into the crudely constructed tunnels, ducking where he had to, and trying his best to follow the distant footsteps. all he could think about was how the ballerina had become so successful and had been prospering in her life. she’d already been ruined once, taken to her lowest possible point, and had come out the other side. Matt was only praying that she could do it again. he remembered attending her first performance. while he couldn’t see it and appreciate it in that way, he felt it, and was every bit as proud as Karen and Foggy were. in fact, he was more proud, not that he would ever say it because Foggy would ask him to prove it and then there would be a whole thing about it. but, Matt was proud, and he was reminded of how proud he felt of his dad when he won a boxing match. that feeling was a long forgotten one, and somehow the ballerina had reignited it. Matt paused at a corner, hearing voices neary. they were much closer than the footsteps he’d been tracking. the voices were idly chatting, obviously bored. Matt picked up on what they were saying. “but man, these tunnels? they go way back, I swear. my old man used to brag about running all sorts through here, and the cops had no fuckin’ idea!” the first one laughed. “man, I wish we knew about these sooner, could’ve saved us a lot of trouble.” the other one replied, sighing. “we lost a lot of guys recently, cops are cracking down. if they found out about these tunnels, we’d be really fucked.” the first guy tutted. “they won’t, we hid ‘em after the last raid. cops thought they blew up the lot, but we had backups already dug out.” they both started laughing now, that was when Matt revealed himself around the corner and surprised them both. before they had the chance to pull out their guns, they were down. they both sported an abundance of tattoos, some of which were very clearly gang related. they wore black and white, also pointing towards a gang affiliation. Matt sighed, kicking away the guns in case they got back up later. so, the cops had previously tried to end the use of these tunnels by blowing them up, but it hadn’t worked? well, Matt knew exactly how to fix that.

⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰ one phone call later, and the police were swarming the tunnels. Matt had removed himself well before making the call, and watched in satisfaction as the police turned up in vans and SWAT teams. they entered through the warehouse Matt had used, and started flushing out the gang members from every possible angle. all across the city gang members were on the run, having heard the news from those who had been chased out of the tunnels or caught. the police were doing a lot of shooting on sight, which meant less work for Matt when they cleared out. Matt re-entered the tunnels with caution as the police were still active down there, clearing out rooms full of drugs and guns. some gang members were still hiding, or running, around the network and warning others to get out. Matt knew that the ballerina had to be down here somewhere, her scent was lingering in his head like she’d been here, but only for a short amount of time. she was smart to use the perfume as she had, it left a temporary trail for Matt, but no one else. he followed it, but it got him nowhere, and the police were getting closer as they advanced through the tunnels. Matt had to listen out for fleeing gang members, roaming police teams and any possible signs of the ballerina. it was exhausting, but only he could save her now. he was holding onto scraps of hope after avoiding close encounters with the police teams down here, when his foot scuffed something. metal, it made a nice ringing noise as it scraped across the concrete. he bent down, getting a feel of it, and realised with a start that it was the ballerina’s bracelet. he’d gifted it to her after one of her shows, he’d picked it out for her with Karen’s input one day. he’d know it anywhere, and this was definitely it. the ballerina was down here, she must’ve been. he tucked the bracelet away in his pocket, and kept walking the tunnel he was in. he was going to find her and bring her home safe. ⊱ ━━━━.⋅ εïз ⋅.━━━━ ⊰

Strange wasn’t exactly... thrilled to have you as an apprentice to begin with... but it was Wong’s orders

and Wong’s words were final. you both knew that.

Strange made it very clear when you first started learning things from him that this wasn’t going to last long if he had a say in it, and it did seem to be going that way... for a long time

each tiny mistake or accidental slip up was enough for Strange to go running to Wong and demand that you be removed from him, but Wong refused every single time without fail

it stayed this way for a long time, you even went to Wong yourself one night to ask if he would separate you and Strange, because you knew you were making his life hard

then, in an odd twist of events, you saved Strange’s life, risking your own in the process

and he finally realised that you were just a scared kid who had powers they didn’t understand

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

you’d saved Strange’s life when he was fighting an unknown creature, it had somehow made its way to earth, and was attacking New York

you’d been told to stay away, but you saw that Wong was tied up fighting the creature and then Strange was being lifted off of the concrete–

Wong tried to stop you, calling out your name, but you were already running towards the creature in a blind panic

you might not care much for Strange on the surface, but he had taught you some valuable lessons and shown you things you’d never seen before, so you felt inclined to try and help

your powers were seriously out of control at the best of times, but somehow you concentrated it enough that you scared the creature off with a few well aimed blasts

you also angered it, so once it had retreated, it started coming back

and it was looking directly at you.

it nearly had you, and if you hadn’t managed to slide underneath it and then take cover under a car... no one wanted to think about the consequences, not even Strange

Strange had then quickly opened up the mirror dimension, Wong grabbed and pushed you (rather ungracefully) through a portal to safety in the New York sanctum, and there you waited for their safe return

the lecture you’d received was a long and boring one from Wong, but Strange only had good things to say when it was all over with

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧ ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

there were many reasons for you becoming Strange’s apprentice, one being that you were practically a loose cannon

you held immense power, for what reason no one knew, but you were on earth and that meant you were under the protection of the Masters of the Mystic Arts

they kept you well hidden from the governments of earth, and if they ever came knocking, they soon forgot why

in terms of your powers before meeting Strange and Wong, you had been reckless and not aware of the potential consequences, and after meeting them you were scared of your powers and held them back

you had been perfectly happy to be savagely fighting Thanos and his army, retrieving the Infinity Stones and being on a large battlefield surrounded by enemies, but now you realised that you needed to gain some control

your powers were wild by nature it seemed, and you didn’t exactly want to control them, because that meant you did less damage in battle

less damage when fighting meant that you appeared weaker, that was how you saw it

no one was more against becoming an apprentice than you, after seeing Tony’s sacrifice and knowing that Nat would never come back, you just didn’t want to be controlled like that

but, Wong had strongly insisted after seeing your potential on the battlefield against Thanos and his army, and eventually you realised that you needed some guidance

to be honest, neither you or Strange had completely agreed to the whole thing, Wong just kind of pushed you together hoping for the best.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

most days, Strange had you studying some ancient book or cataloguing the library, again

a lot of the time, you felt like a glorified housekeeper.

you had a long list of chores to complete each day before anything else could even be considered in terms of training

Strange insisted that doing several chores at once meant you learned better focus and coordination, you just saw it as child labour

on the rare occasion that Strange trusted you to partake in something practical and physical, it often went entirely wrong :(

neither of you quite fully got over the ‘teapot incident’ now that you think about it…

the teapot incident was widely known but rarely spoken about.

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after some months, you were permitted to start using your magic around the New York Sanctum

BUT only in small amounts, per Wong’s strict set of instructions

your magic was not the same as Strange’s… no one quite understood what it was, so he was trying to discipline you into controlling it

and it was proving useful, although some days were much harder than others

a prime example being the day that you woke up and chose violence, purely because of your mood, and ended up getting into quite the argument with Strange over a recent practical experiment that ended badly

the infamous argument saw the New York sanctum empty of sorcerers in mere minutes

it was characterised by a lot of broken furniture and hoarse shouting and loud swearing

whenever you thought you’d said enough, another thing popped into your head and you started shouting again

“AND YOU KNOW WHAT ELSE, STRANGE?” became an overused phrase that day

Strange had just argued back, lowkey throwing insults around too, which only angered you more

Wong had just returned from a mission overseas when the argument began

and when he opened the portal and saw the state of the place, he stepped back through and said to himself

“I’ll come back later.”

Strange was the one to stop arguing first, much to your surprise, and he locked himself in his room to let you calm down 

and stop himself from going “AND ANOTHER THING–”

but peace was finally made when Strange ordered a lot of pizza

like a lot

you made your apologies whilst watching cheesy chick flicks, and Strange promised to try harder with his patience and understanding your position as a scared teeanger with immense power at their fingertips

you felt like the good days were very good, when they came around 

you loved them like nothing else, and on those days, Strange looked at you as if he was… proud, almost.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

in the present day, you’ve discovered that your powers may be able to access something Strange has been fixated on for a long time

he likes to call it the ‘multiverse’, but you think it’s a big lie

you were debating this late one night with Strange as you let cheesy chick flicks play in the background, and Strange told you to try and access the multiverse

when you stubbornly refused, he hit you with:

“oh come on, if you say it can’t possibly exist, then you won’t be able to reach it, will you? so there’s no reason why you can’t try.”

he had you there, either you tried to access it and prove him wrong by finding nothing, or you accept that it existed and did nothing

you couldn’t stand to see him sat there all smug, so you got up from the stiff antique sofa, determined to prove him totally wrong

you had moderate control over your powers now, sometimes using large amounts tired you out and that’s when things would go wrong

but you weren’t going to need much to prove Strange wrong.

you closed your eyes, searching through the earth, finding nothing, and you were about to turn to Steven in triumph when you saw it

another you.

you were watching yourself in an entirely different universe and you had no idea how. you opened your eyes, heart hammering in your chest, sweat on your face, and looked at Strange with wide eyes.

“are there other versions of us in the multiverse?” you asked, weakly.

Strange sat up, hooked on your words

“yes, there would be, in theory. why?” he asked, as you looked around the room as if you’d just seen a ghost of a famous celebrity

“I think... I just saw me, but different.” you swallowed to control your breathing before closing your eyes again and holding out your hands to try and feel for anything unusual

there, it felt like... a bump beneath wallpaper, a splinter in a plank of wood, a loose tooth...

you grabbed onto it, and spontaneously opened up what could only be described as a portal to several other universes that neither of you recognised, or knew what to do with

Strange shot out of his seat, pulling you away from the portal you had opened, before starting to get closer himself

an almighty screech from one of the universes that made the entire sanctum tremble scared you, and with one hasty flick of your hand the portal closed,

like it was never there

Strange turned to look at you, an unreadable look on his pale face

“I am not doing that again.” you whispered.

“oh, you’re doing that again kid.”

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

after the ‘multiverse portal incident’, which you had both kept deathly quiet and top secret, Strange started training you differently

he was teaching you aggressive tactics, he started emphasising speed and power rather than taking it slow and steady by studying the opponent first

when you finally questioned him, he vehemently denied that the portal incident had anything to do with the sudden change in training

but you knew better than that.

you spoke to Wong one night, against your better judgement, and let him in on what you’d pulled off randomly one night

in truth, since opening that multiverse portal, you hadn’t been able to pull it off again

you’d tried, in secret, late at night when Strange and Wong were out of the sanctum

but there was nothing. you couldn’t even see that other version of yourself anymore

you hoped they weren’t hurt, or worse

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Wong then suddenly removed you from Strange, denying you any communication with him until it was deemed ‘safe’

“what on earth do you mean ‘safe’? is he in danger?” you asked, desperately trying to understand what Wong’s motivations were

“something... unexplained has been going on recently, and until I can rule out the multiverse as a cause, you will stay here. you are not to reach out to Strange under any circumstances, am I being fully understood?” Wong was deadly serious, and you found yourself agreeing silently

you were confined to Kamar-Taj from that day onwards, and you regretted ever telling Wong of that night, because you found that being ripped apart from Stephen had hurt more than you expected it to.

each night you tried desperately to make a portal to Strange, but Wong had you in a room that seemed to heavily dampen your magic

there were always guards outside of your door, listening, too

you felt like a prisoner, even though you knew that wasn’t what Wong intended to do

eventually, you gave up on trying to reach Strange, and he wasn’t exactly making much of an effort to reach you

that made you sad, really sad, and you started spending more and more time in bed than around Kamar-Taj with your personal guards getting fresh air

Wong didn’t even notice your absence, only your guards did, but they weren’t allowed inside of your room unless you were in imminent danger so they couldn’t help

until Wong let you speak to Strange again, you didn’t know what else you were waiting for

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days seemed to melt into one big thing, you struggled to find motivation or interest in anything the longer it went on, like a broken record. you found yourself reminiscing your precious time with Stephen, your mentor, your only true friend in this world. if only you hadn’t opened that stupid multiverse portal... if there was a way to undo that night, you would, in a heartbeat, reverse it all. you’d simply let Stephen be right and refuse to even entertain the idea of accessing the theoretical multiverse. you closed your eyes, and felt sleep approaching, when the sky darkened outside. curious at something actually happening at Kamar-Taj for once, you watched the windows with drooping eyes. you didn’t make the move to get out of bed though, that was too much right now. you felt a strange energy filling the grounds of Kamar-Taj, something you had encountered once before but not for a long time. now you were feeling something. you walked over to the windows, pressing your face right up against the wood, and saw the Scarlet Witch. she must’ve seen you too, because her head tilted ever so slightly in your direction, before you backed away from the window and fell onto the bed. why was she here? no one had heard from her since... Westview, was it? you couldn’t really recall, you didn’t know her well enough, but Wong and Strange might know her. there had to be a reasonable explanation to her being here. you found your bedroom door unlocked, thankfully, but your personal guards were nowhere to be seen. that wasn’t right, they were normally here all the time, day and night, like a pesky fly in summertime. you had only just made it down the hallway when the sounds of battle from outside reached your ears, and you froze. the Scarlet Witch was attacking Kamar-Taj, and you had absolutely no idea what to do about it without Strange here. ✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Kenobi, do you particularly need this damned cruiser?” You asked with a tight voice. The strain of trying to slow down an entire Republic cruiser starting to crush your body, and you knew you wouldn’t hold out much longer. You’d been called in by Kenobi to help save this cruiser from imminent destruction, and when one of the engines gave out, you took a hold of the entire ship, trying to help the pilots steer it. It hadn’t worked, and you’d ordered Kenobi and any non-essential personnel off the cruiser as you tried to save it. Right now, it wasn’t working, but you were still determined to try. The only thing that was driving you was the fact that there were still men on this cruiser who needed to evacuate before the whole thing crashed and burned at your hands. If you felt any of those connections go out, you’d never forget it.

“Well... yes, I do.” He replied, his voice tense. You could tell he was absolutely overwhelmed on his end. With a final moment of peace, you replied.

“I’m not making any promises. Evacuate the rest of this cruiser, give me a space to land on that planet.” His immediate protests came over the comms, you ignored them. He didn’t want you to do this on his own, but there was no other way. His voice was drowned out by the groaning and shaking of the cruiser. How you were managing to hold this weight… you didn’t even want to think about it. You’d be sick if anything other than the mission on hand came to mind. You didn’t even want to think about what the recovery was going to be like for this one, all you knew is that it was going to be grisly. You felt the evacuation pods leave the cruiser, and then concentrated all of your energy left into altering the path this cruiser was about to take in order to reach the nearest planet.

You went down to one knee, letting out a grunt as another wave of hot sweat and strong nausea overtook your body. Your hands were cramping up already, but you flexed them and the feeling subsided slightly. You attacked once more, putting everything you had into changing the path of the cruiser. You were fighting against gravity and physics and it was killing you. Every tiny movement, from an intake of breath to a shift of your knee, was putting you into agony for longer and longer. There was blood running down your face from your nose and mouth, you wiped it away clumsily, only to smear it across yourself. You had never attempted anything like this, you weren’t really sure if you could do it. If you managed to pull this off, you’d go down in the history books, if not, you’d lose an entire Republic cruiser and your life in the process. There was no mistaking it, you simply had to win.

There was a noise coming from behind you, something repetitive and vague. You focused in, trying to get your senses to cooperate. Everything was becoming blurred and hard to understand the longer you exerted yourself. Finally, you heard it. “Come in!” It was Hunter’s voice from behind you. Your head whipped to follow the sound, and you felt a burning sensation down your neck, and spine. “Damn it, will you say something?!” You stumbled over to the comms and used one shaking finger to hit the button. “Hunter?” You asked, with barely enough breath to speak. “What are you doing? There’s no possible way you can save that cruiser.” Tech butted in, you could practically hear him elbowing Hunter out of the way.

“I can do it,” You sputtered, “trust me.” Blood spilled from your mouth and you coughed, near to vomiting blood.

“We’re on our way to the ship, hold her steady for us.” Hunter said with a hard tone, meaning it was final. You’d learned that after your first mission with the Bad Batch, and they’d learned plenty of things about you too. It had been a whirlwind experience, but you felt like you’d do it again tomorrow if they asked you.

“No! You’ll die—” You started, but you were cut off by Wrecker’s voice.

“No, we’re coming to help. We’ll be there before you know it.” Your head slumped forward onto the desk and your powers went out like a light, before you quickly gained a hold of them and pulled the cruiser back on course for a crash landing. You had to crawl back to the bridge to get a central hold of the cruiser and feel the balance set back in. Your magic came back, and you had a steady hold on the cruiser once again. You took deep steadying breaths to align yourself, before closing your eyes and visualising the path to the planet as clearly as you could.

It was then that you felt a ship land on the cruiser, and you realised that they were here. Images flashed through your head of them, and you tried to not let it distract you. A glimpse of the future was not what you needed right now. What could only be called relief flooded through you, and you felt that nausea subside as four pairs of footsteps came rushing to you. What felt like hours of waiting had really only been five minutes before they burst onto the bridge. Tech made a beeline for the front control consoles and started pressing buttons and reading screens, as Crosshair and Hunter followed. Wrecker stood by your side, like a statue.

“Wrecker, I need you to get behind me and support my arms, it’s gonna be a lot, but you can do it.” You wheezed, as Wrecker knelt behind you and put your arms on top of his massive ones. You rested all of your weight on him, and he took it like a champ. “Maker, thank you.” You sighed in relief, almost brought to tears. Tech had the controls working together and the ship’s engines worked double time to steer towards the planet.

“I need to check your vitals, you’re bleeding enough to fill a bathtub.” Hunter broke off from Tech and Crosshair, putting his hands to your pulse on your neck and wrist. He was directly touching the chaos magic that was surrounding your hands, and didn’t flinch or pull away. He took your pulse, then started to wipe the blood from your face. “Her pulse and temp is sky high, we need to land this cruiser sooner rather than later, Tech.” Hunter called out. “You try steering a Republic cruiser that has one dead engine!” Tech retorted, meaning well, but coming off as heavily sarcastic, as always.

“I’m fine, just help me out will you?” You cried out, nearly collapsing onto Wrecker, but he stayed steady behind you like a foundation of a good house. Tech and Cross went haywire on the controls, setting them to this and that. The ship’s comms were suddenly alive with chatter, as the clones stationed on the planet were giving advice to Hunter on how to navigate the atmosphere and complete the crash landing. As Hunter relayed the information to Tech and Crosshair, Wrecker took on every bit of weight that you were dumping on him. It was a tense few minutes of loud noises, shouting orders and blood running until you broke the atmosphere. The cruiser started to shake and rumble as it broke the planet’s atmosphere, sending everyone on the bridge tumbling about with nothing to hold onto. You felt Wrecker grab onto a nearby console to hold your position, and you strained to stay in place. Your body temperature was getting higher and higher, you momentarily thought about making your clothes disintegrate, but then decided against it. You started to slow the descent of the cruiser by pulling back on it with all of your magic, your hands almost cramping into place with the force you were exerting. Chaos magic was spilling from your hands as bright as the stars, and had completely enclosed the cruiser, taking over all directional control of it. Wrecker’s massive hands carefully moved into place behind yours, and he held on, despite the rampant chaos magic coming from yours. You were holding back the most unhinged scream as the cruiser finally made contact with the planet’s surface, sending a reeling shockwave through you. You didn’t falter once as the planet’s debris flew up and collided with the cruiser, in fact it actually helped to slow the crash. The lights went out, leaving you in the dark, but you kept going with only the light from your hands to guide you now. You pulled and pulled until you were sure the cruiser was at a slow enough speed that it wouldn’t move on its own anymore. The screeching sound stopped, and it was replaced by a stark silence. Nobody moved. Your hands stayed in place, now totally still but empty of magic. Each member of the Bad Batch turned to look at you, no words at the ready, just a variation of stares. Kenobi’s voice came over the comms. You got up, every single inch of you about ready to implode, and pressed the button to answer.

“One cruiser, slightly used, but still in good condition.” You heard his chuckle in reply and smiled, blood dripping from your mouth. “You are never doing that again, I didn’t even ask you to save it!” Kenobi attempted to tell you off, but you shook your head, knowing that there was no way he could punish you for this one.

“We can’t just break in and steal it! Someone else will be in need of that medicine and we are robbing them of it.” Echo was stating his argument against Hunter’s plan, again. Omega watched on in hidden fascination, for she had witnessed many petty disagreements between the Bad Batch, but not one this heated or multi-faceted. It all began when the nurse asked the Bad Batch to attend a meeting where the matter of payment was to be settled, and Tech had volunteered himself. The news that Tech had returned with was big, and bad.

Omega could still recall hearing the amount of credits from Tech’s lips, and the variation of expressions that had been pulled in response. Wrecker just went blank, Echo looked defeated, Hunter... He looked serious. Something was working in his mind and Omega could see it. It wasn’t until Tech broke down just how many credits they’d have to earn to pay off the treatment that Hunter’s grand plan was finally revealed.

“We get the medicine ourselves, deliver it directly to them.” Hunter had said, looking at Tech with a scheming face. Tech put a finger to his chin and thought for a minute, then two, before answering.

“I… don’t see why not.” Hunter clapped Tech on the shoulder, before asking Wrecker what he thought. Wrecker, having heard Tech’s explanation, agreed that ‘permanently borrowing’ the most expensive medicine for your treatment would be a good way to go about it. Then, came Echo. Echo was on his high horse today, he still thought about how close to death you looked, and it made him reconsider some life choices. Now, he was in a morally correct mindset, and no one was changing his mind. Even with Tech’s convincing explanation, Echo was not swayed. Omega kept quiet in the bunks, listening to it all, reading the body language and expressions of each member and noting their side in this argument.

Omega, had she been given a voice in the argument, would’ve been vouching for Hunter’s plan. She knew that sometimes the rules had to be bent, or even broken, to save the ones you loved. This seemed like one of those times, despite Echo’s argument against stealing the medicine, where the rules had to be disregarded to save a life. Your life, which seemed to matter an awful lot to Hunter and the others, seemed worth breaking the rules for every time. Omega admired you, there was no other word for it, and would happily do anything to get you back to normal. That’s why she shuffled over to Echo when the argument had died down and lost its fire, and spoke to him in the most rational way she could master.

“Echo, why don’t you want to steal the medicine?” Omega asked, her voice low enough that the others wouldn’t hear, except for Hunter.

“Exactly that Omega, steal.” Echo replied sternly, deciding to focus all of his attention on tinkering at some useless object he’d found lying around. He did not make any eye contact with Omega, knowing that he’d give in if she looked even a tiny bit sad.

“Even for her?” Omega asked, looking at Echo with her young eyes, silently asking for his attention. He put down the object, and sighed. “What’s that story you used to tell me when I first met you all? About how she was part of the team rescuing you, and she was your biggest supporter during recovery, and even introduced you to these guys?” Echo went still at Omega’s words, he couldn’t believe she was using this story against him. “She has always been there for you, Echo, even when you weren’t really there yourself. Now, she’s waiting in that hospital for us. Don’t you want to be her biggest supporter during her recovery?” Echo stood up abruptly, and Omega feared she had pushed him too far. He made his way over to a brooding Hunter, and with a stony expression, said he would go along with the plan.

Omega knew that Echo would not like her for changing his mind, or at the very least guilt tripping him into agreeing with the plan, but in her heart she knew it was for a greater good. The survival of you meant a lot to this ragtag group of clones, and they were about to prove it.